The Minister's Secret - Additional Scenes
by Canimal
Summary: Companion Piece to the story The Minister's Secret. This is a collection of one-shot scenes written from POVs of characters within the original story.
1. Reintroductions - Kingsley

This one-shot is dedicated to Reviewer #250, **animelover5107**!

Reintroductions

Kingsley

When Mad-Eye approached Kingsley just outside of the Ministry to ask him if he was interested in joining the newest incarnation of The Order of the Phoenix, the seasoned auror laughed out loud in his big, booming tone that always drew stares. What a question to ask! There should have been no doubt in the retired auror's mind that he would want to join the organization that had played such a large part of his life in his younger years. While he had certainly lost his fair share of friends and comrades during the First Wizarding War, he was more than willing to jump right back into the fray. He had skills and connections that would come in handy to those prepared to fight the forces of Darkness again.

Albus Dumbledore had always been one of his greatest heroes. He hated that that fact was a source of contention with his little witch. Despite being the wizard's niece, Hermione had odd notions of trust and loyalty. More than a dozen arguments had been fought and finally just dropped about whether or not he should throw his lot in with the man she called 'manipulative', 'untrustworthy', 'Machiavellian', 'wily' and about a hundred other terms that generally meant he was as bad as You-Know-Who. They generally had to 'agree to disagree' to return to some semblance of peace between them.

 _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

Kingsley incinerated the scrap of parchment with a discreet spell as soon as the Secret-Kept townhouse came into view. Even after over forty years of living within the magical world, he still felt like an overeager first year seeing the castle for the first time every time he witnessed a cloaking or concealment charm dissipate. He approached the front door with a wide smile on his face. Just as he was preparing himself to knock to inform the inhabitants within that he'd arrived, the front door was unceremoniously yanked open.

"Best not to knock on the front door," a smirking Sirius Black explained. "Don't wake to wake up the old bat."

Once inside the safety of the long corridor just inside the front door, Kingsley embraced the younger wizard in a tight hug. They had not seen each other since just before Sirius was wrongfully arrested for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and the Muggles. There had been a time when they were very close friends and allies in the first war. Sirius clapped him on the back with his loud, barking laugh before dragging him around the decaying building for the official tour.

"Molly Weasley was just about finished with dinner the last time I checked," Sirius announced when they had nothing but the basement left to explore. "I'll meet you down in the kitchen shortly. Time to feed the hippogriff."

If he had not just been introduced to the impressive creature named Buckbeak, Kingsley would have assumed that his old mate was using some kind of new slang term he was unfamiliar with. Chuckling to himself, he began to descend the large staircase that would take him back down to the ground floor. He was stuck inside his own mind so much that he almost missed the girl on the stairs.

"Oh, good evening! You must be Auror Shacklebolt."

Kingsley's eye shot up from the stairs he had been looking at when he heard the familiar cadence of a voice he never expected to hear again. A young girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen surely, with the same features as his Hermione was smiling at him! He did not realize he was holding his breath until he attempted to make some effort at communication. Exhaling loudly and hearing his heart pounding in his own ears, he extended his hand, only half-convinced that he _wasn't_ seeing a ghost.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

The specter of the great love his life merely smiled as she took his trembling hand in hers.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

He was certain he was losing all grasp on his sanity. Blinking at her several times as if half-convinced she would disappear, he must have seemed a big, lumbering fool to the girl who was not going anywhere. Kingsley dropped her hand and without so much as a 'nice to meet you' ran down the remaining stairs as fast as he could. Terrified to look behind him to find that he was hallucinating the girl, he did not pause before opening the front door.

Moments later his feet were touching down in front of The Hog's Head pub in Hogsmeade. In his rush to seek out answers it was a wonder he did not splinch himself. Taking quick stock that all parts of his body were still attached, he threw open the front door to the dingy pub.

When Hermione disappeared years earlier, the heart of the pub had gone with her. She made it a personal goal and mission to clean up her father's pub to an exacting standard that used to bring in much more desirable clientele. Almost from the moment she was gone, so were all of the improvements she'd forced Aberforth to make over the years. Kingsley stepped inside the main room, his eyes focusing on the only soul within.

"Good evening, son. I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"

Kingsley chose not to answer the query into his well-being. His focus was entirely on what he had just witnessed. Stalking up to the bar, he decided to go a few steps further. His reflexes had been honed through many years of hard work as an auror and Aberforth was many decades older. Kingsley's fist reached across the bar to grasp the elder wizard's collar.

"Hermione. Granger," he spat out through clenched teeth.

Aberforth's eyes widened slightly at the use of the name. Recognizing that he had gotten his point across that he was not a wizard to be trifled with, Kingsley released the man's collar.

"Either you have a granddaughter you never told me about, old man, or you have an even bigger secret to tell."

Dumbledore sighed heavily and gestured to the younger wizard to take a seat. He swiftly filled up two glasses of fire whiskey to calm their nerves. Neither man said a word until the first glass was emptied and refilled.

"Did Hermione leave because she was pregnant?" Kingsley asked, terrified to know the truth. "Pregnant with a baby she knew wasn't mine?"

That had been his first assumption once the initial shock wore off and he realized the girl standing in front of him was not a ghost. They had certainly not had the most perfect or idyllic of relationships. Sometimes where there is great passion there is also great jealousy and short fuses. Both parties involved were deeply in love almost to the point of being unable to see straight at times. She'd promised him… _promised_ him that no matter what happened, _he_ was her wizard. Had she lied? Told him what she wanted him to hear? Was this Hermione Granger girl named after her mother and given a false last name to hide the fact that her father was condemned to spend the rest of his life locked up in Azkaban? It, unfortunately, made the most sense.

"No, to my knowledge, Hermione was not pregnant when she left," Aberforth explained.

"What do you know? Why is there a child in London that looks _exactly_ like her?"

Aberforth came around to the front of the bar. Pointing his wand at the front door, he had the sign flipped to 'closed' and the door locked before he sat down on the stool next to the distraught younger wizard. Kingsley worried what he was about to hear.

"This is all going to sound completely mad, son, but I swear to you on my honor as a wizard that everything I'm about to tell you is the truth."

Kingsley nodded. Aberforth gulped down the rest of his second glass and began to speak.

"On June 18, 1971, I heard a loud crash in my parlor just after ten that night. Thinking one of my girls had broken something, I went there straightaway to see what the commotion was. A witch I had never seen before was lying unconscious in my parlor. Poor girl had hit her head at some point. I had no idea who she was or how she got there, but something about her struck a chord with me. I carefully picked her up and laid her in the spare bedroom.

"Inside one of her pockets was an envelope with my name on it. Curious, I ripped it open. I assumed that she was sent to play owl for me and managed to get injured in the process. Honestly, I wasn't really sure what to expect. Inside the envelope was a long, detailed letter of who the girl was and why she was there. There was also a pensieve and several memories that belonged to a future me…"

"What? The future? How is that even possible?"

"Son, I know it's hard to believe, but she had a time turner around her neck. A peculiar device it was and engraved with a line from one of Robert Burns' poems."

Kingsley's stomach jolted at the mention of Hermione's favorite poet. One of the first gifts he had ever given her was a book with all of Burns' most beloved poems. He used to give her red roses, _only_ red roses because they both loved his poem 'A Red, Red Rose'. How many times had he crooned it to her in their most intimate moments? How many times had he promised to love her 'till a' the seas gang dry'?

"What line?" he asked, afraid to raise his voice above a whisper. "What was the line engraved on the device?"

"'Till a' the seas gang dry'."

He laid his head on top of the bar and unashamedly wept. His Hermione, _his_ Hermione was still alive and stuck in the body of a teenager. He longed to run back to London, take the clearly underage girl in his arms and _make_ her remember how much she loved him once upon a time. It was clearly a foolish idea. That Granger girl wasn't his Hermione _yet_. Obviously someone had sent her back in time to him. Based on the engraving Aberforth claimed was on the edge of her time turner, he was the one who sent her. How? How was that even possible? There were rumors of time travelling devices in the Department of Mysteries, but he'd never actually seen one before. Wiping at his eyes, Kingsley turned to face the man he had always admired _almost_ as much as he admired his older brother.

"Why did she never tell me where she was from? Or rather, _when_?"

"Would you have believed her if she did?"

Kingsley could not argue with Aberforth that point. No, he likely would have thought she was barmy. To his knowledge, time travel was nothing more than a fantasy. It did not exist. Seeing the evidence to the contrary in his little witch being ever _littler_ than she used to be, changed his mind.

"So there's a chance that when she disappeared she was really just using her time turner to return to her correct time?"

Aberforth nodded his head.

"Why did she not tell me? Why did _you_ not tell me after she disappeared that that was even a possibility? The hope alone…"

"Could have killed you, son. Hermione did not want you to know. She begged me not to tell you the truth because she was afraid that you would waste your life pining for someone who may not be coming back."

"What do you mean? May not be coming back? If she used her time turner to travel forward in time, she will be waiting for us in the future."

"That's assuming that she was able to use her time turner. We don't know that for certain. You remember what it was like back then. Lots of people disappeared who weren't time travelers. She could have easily been one of them. Hermione wasn't even certain that she would be able to make it back to the future, but she did make it very clear to me that she did not want to disrupt your life with hope."

Kingsley knocked back the rest of his fire whiskey. Without even asking, Aberforth refilled the glass. He hated that Hermione had a point. Always hated when she was right and he wasn't. If he had known that there might come a day in the distant future when he would have the chance to hold her in his arms again, he would have waited until he was old and doddering. As it was, he had not given up hope that she would one day waltz back into their house for over five years. He'd met a witch so very different from the one he was still deeply in love with, but who had provided him the opportunity to move on. Though their relationship did not end in marriage and babies, he would always be fond of Hestia. Others had flitted in and out of his life with less impact.

"What do we do now?" Kingsley asked.

"I wish I could tell you, but I'm afraid I don't know."

Hours later he returned to the Order Headquarters intoxicated and thoroughly depressed. He was not sure how he was going to be in the same room with the girl who would grow up to be the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. Steeling himself for the inevitable influx of emotions certain to overpower him the moment he caught the familiar scent of lavender and ink wafting off of the girl, Kingsley stepped inside the house.

"You can always find someone here willing to drink with you, Kings," teased Sirius when he descended to the kitchen where a boisterous meal was in progress. "No need to run off to do it by yourself."

With a smile plastered on his face that felt fake and disingenuous, Kingsley settled down in the seat directly opposite from the girl. She caught his eye to smile widely. His stomach clenched, but the smile he had morphed into one that was real.

His predominant thoughts as he silently enjoyed the meal Molly Weasley provided was that he was going to have to somehow break into the Department of Mysteries. He had a time turner to steal.


	2. The (Second) Sorting - Aberforth

_This one-shot is dedicated to Reviewer #500,_ _ **PhoenixsMirage**_ _!_

The (Second) Sorting

Aberforth

He had been both looking forward to and dreading this day for over ten years. September 1st, 1991 had been looming in front of him ever since the day his girl disappeared. A lot had changed in his life since the day Kingsley Shacklebolt burst into his pub to announce he had not seen Hermione in days. They lived together in a small house on the outskirts of London. Young Shacklebolt had been under the impression that she was spending time in Hogsmeade and had forgotten to tell him. Their busy schedules often meant they passed like ships in the night. Or at least that's how she'd described it one night over a pint when she needed to vent and cry to her dad.

They made plans for a romantic Christmas Eve dinner. The young auror was dressed in his most formal dress robes. Aberforth knew that he had plans to finally make an honest witch out of his daughter. Assuming, of course, that Hermione was interested. Marriage would only be decided on her terms. Her uncle's repeated attempts to arrange a marriage for her had made her a bit wary of the institution. There was a reason why they had been together for four years and there was not a ring on her finger.

Those first days following her disappearance passed in a blur. Everyone was searching for the missing witch. Order members, Death Eaters, Albus Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort himself. Despite the sheer number of searchers, no clue of her whereabouts was discovered. Aberforth was not proud to remember that he spent more than an entire week completely pissed. He was frightened for his girl. Terrified that she had been harmed. He kept a hope in his heart that her time turner was operational.

She was last seen the afternoon of December 22, 1980. Her cousin Rabastan had met her for a late lunch in Diagon Alley. Every member of the Lestrange family with the exception of the horrible Bellatrix had thrown themselves into searching for their relative. Rodolphus had been sick with the knowledge that she disappeared the night of the full moon. She had only just recently confided in him that she had been a frequent target of Fenrir Greyback's creepy visits. Aberforth knew the werewolf, knew the horrific atrocities he had been responsible for. If he had only been aware that the monster was stalking his daughter, he would've done whatever was necessary to murder the creature. No one would have missed him.

Aberforth stared at the state of his pub. Once his girl left a large part of his heart had gone with her. Every single change she made to his establishment was just another reminder of the fact that he could not be certain he would ever see her again. It had not taken long before the pub and the guest rooms upstairs reverted back to their original state of disarray. Even her strict rule that no goats were allowed inside had been broken. Though his Agnes and Gladys were both deceased for many years, his newest goat Matey had free reign of the building.

Sunday nights were rarely busy evenings for trade. Even if they were, he was willing to disappoint his regular customers. He turned the sign on the door around to show the pub was 'Closed'. The familiar walk to the castle never seemed to take so long as it did that evening. Carriages pulled by thestrals were pulling into the grounds long before he ever reached the front door.

He slipped into the Entrance Hall once all of the students were inside. It was easier to sneak in without an audience of hundreds of busybody students. One of the doors was cracked open just enough that he was able to witness all of the impossibly tiny first years enter the hall in a disorganized queue.

His girl had not been hard to spot. Muttering to herself and staring up at the enchanted ceiling in awe, he spotted her bushy hair almost immediately. Aberforth's stomach clenched at the sight. Emotions he had pushed down for years began to slowly bubble up within him. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? Even if she wasn't conventionally handsome, he certainly had never seen a more lovely little girl.

He laughed out loud when the Sorting Hat put her into his House. Why had she never told him that she used to be a Gryffindor? He could not have been any more proud of her if she was a member of his own House, but it would have been interesting to know they were even more alike than he already suspected.

The Sorting Feast passed by quickly considering he was doing nothing but standing at a cracked open door staring at an eleven year old girl. If any other wizard had been doing the same thing, he would've been thrown out of the castle immediately. Of course Aberforth had no intention of being caught. He just wanted to see her again. Wanted to see for himself that she was whole and healthy. Hermione had given him no information about how her years of schooling before she was forced to fight a war she had no business being a part of were like. He knew he would be unable to resist the urge to keep a closer eye on the activities going on in the castle. He was a concerned parent of a new student after all.

Scores of excited students poured out of the Great Hall. Aberforth stepped back to allow them to move around him. His eyes never left the tiny girl with the wild curls. She followed her prefect with a serious air. He was instantly charmed by the little lady. The queue of First Years exited the same door he had been peeking through during the Feast. He was so focused on Hermione that he did not move out of her way when she bumped directly into him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir!" she apologized.

Aberforth burst out laughing loud enough to startle one of the new Gryffindors. No doubt the child thought he was a madman. His thoughts traveled back in time to 1971 when a young witch kept calling him 'sir' and he begged her to stop. Little Hermione gave him one last bemused look before disappearing up the main staircase with the rest of her House.

When the last of the students disappeared up the staircase, Aberforth directed his steps toward the front door. There would be other opportunities that he could catch glimpses of the girl over the course of the next year. She was not going anywhere. Just knowing that she was nearby was enough to steady his nerves. He was only steps from the massive door when he felt his entire body lurch forward. His face smashed roughly into the hard wood.

"Why did you never tell me, brother?"

Aberforth was released from the tight grip long enough that he was able to turn around to face his older brother. Albus was angrier than he had seen him in years. There was once a time when both of the brothers were known for their outbursts of temper. The Headmaster learned how to control his anger when it suited him. Aberforth was still learning.

"What are you asking me, Albus?"

"Why did you never tell me that my niece was from the future?"

He did not know how to answer the question. If anyone else had asked him, he would have thought they were nuts. Time travel was not supposed to be possible. Aberforth had never been able to lie convincingly to his brother except where his girl was concerned. Somehow he and Hermione had been able to keep her secrets from the renowned Legilimens for over nine years.

"Don't try to deny it, Abbie. _That_ little girl is Hermione, _our_ Hermione."

"That's funny, Al. I never thought you were particularly interested in having anything to do with your niece."

"You know that's not true. You know I loved her like she was my own."

"You always had a funny way of showing that."

Albus dropped both of his hands to his sides. His twinkling blue eyes were swimming with unshed tears. Aberforth was truly surprised. He genuinely believed that Albus had not been emotionally invested in his daughter. Despite the effort he expended in searching for her after she disappeared, he always assumed that Albus did that only for the sake of his image. Seeing the raw emotion on his brother's face that he usually worked very hard to keep hidden was shocking.

"Hermione and I were never as close as I would have liked, but yes, brother, I loved her very much. It was apparent that she did not trust me. I never understood why. Even if she had years of you poisoning her against me, it still did not fully explain why she was so reluctant to trust me."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Maybe start with the truth?"

Aberforth sighed. It had never been his intention to be caught staring by the Headmaster. He was sure there would be some awkward questions come up eventually once his girl started attending school. He had hoped that he would be long gone from the castle before his brother knew he had been there.

"Hermione is not my biological daughter," he answered, feeling a tiny bit of relief at finally revealing some of his secrets. "She appeared in my parlor in the middle of the night in June 1971 with an envelope containing a forged birth certificate and a letter explaining why she was there."

"Who sent her? Is she important to the war?"

He groaned. Of course his brother would immediately seek out the opportunity to use anything for the Greater Good. It was no wonder why Hermione was reluctant to tell her uncle anything.

"I sent her and I will tell you no more."

" _You_ sent her? Why? Why can't you tell me anymore?"

Aberforth regretted bringing up the conversation. His older brother would never let it drop until he was satisfied that he knew everything.

"She always warned me that you would manipulate and harm those around you for your own agenda. Always told me that I shouldn't tell you anything important."

"That's preposterous, Ab. I would _never_ …"

Aberforth held up his hand to interrupt his brother. He might have turned down the opportunity to become the Minister for Magic multiple times, but Albus was the consummate politician. Full of lies and prepared to deceive at every turn.

"Save your breath, Albus. You and I both know what kind of man you really are. The rest of the world might be fooled, but we know. Just understand, brother, that I will be keeping a very close watch on the castle for the next several years. Any harm comes to my girl and I will be your worst nightmare."


	3. The Failed Mission - Antonin

_This one-shot is dedicated to the 200_ _th_ _person to Favorite The Minister's Secret,_ _ **Montara**_ _._

* * *

The Failed Mission

Antonin

Though he had already been out of Azkaban for six entire months, Antonin could still feel the icy tendrils of despair that had permeated his existence for fourteen years. He had merely _existed_ , not lived. Saying that he had been alive during his incarceration in the bastion of darkness would have implied that he had been able to decipher what day it was or that he had some purpose other than simply staring at a barren wall reliving the worst moments of his past every time a hooded dementor chose to glide past his cell.

Azkaban was no life. How many times did he sit in the darkness over the years and hear his conscience (which happened to sound exactly like a shrill, bossy witch he knew once upon a time) berate him for his dismal life choices? _You could've done anything you ever wanted. You certainly had the NEWTs for it._ Or _You could be teaching your son how to fly his first broom while your beautiful wife cradled your newborn, perfect daughter in her arms._ There were countless more. _You could have… You could have… You could have…_

It was enough to drive even the sanest man completely barmy and it was no secret that he had not entered prison in control of his full mental faculties. He spent fourteen years existing day by day on nothing but regrets and moldy bread. What would _she_ say if she could see him now? She would probably tell him it was nothing he didn't already deserve. She might have even hexed him to drag him back to Azkaban where they both knew he deserved to die.

There had been other women in his life, of course. Even some he had loved. A couple he would have even married if times were different and he had more to offer than the uncertainty that he might not make it home each night his master summoned. Despite all of the women he had loved, one always stood out. His only explanation for why Hermione Dumbledore meant so much to him was that maybe her untimely death raised her up in his mind to angelic perfection she would have never risen up to on her own merits if she was still alive. Even in his Azkaban-rotted mind he knew he was irrational.

Rodolphus insisted that he come live in his family's manor after their mass breakout in January. Hermione's favorite cousin admitted that he often found Hermione's taste in men perplexing to say the least, but stated had his cousin been alive, she would have gladly welcomed him into the ancestral manse. He had been given Hermione's private suite on the family corridor with the cheeky reminder not to allow any witches with immoral designs on his person to touch the massive bed. What Hermione once called the anti-shagging charms might still be active even ten years after Regnault Lestrange's death.

In the end it turned out Rodolphus' concerns were invalid. Following a raucous party Rabastan threw downstairs to celebrate their return to the real world, a pretty young thing with legs for days put the bed to the test. Antonin half-expected a barrage of cacophonous alarms to go off but when he found no reason for concern, attempted to put a big dent in all of the physical activity he had been missing over the years.

Settling back into life as a Death Eater again took a great deal of patience and self-control. Antonin sneered at his comrades who managed to lie their way out of a lengthy prison sentence. Seeing the pompous Lucius Malfoy strut around in his expensive robes with his small, beautiful family without seeming to have suffered in the slightest for their cause made him sick. Imperius Curse, his arse! Lucius was the one who _cast_ the Unforgivable on their victims.

There was one face he had been disappointed not to see at their gatherings. From all accounts, Igor Karkaroff had tucked tail and run. He would be found. Of that Antonin had no doubt. He only hoped that when the pathetic excuse for a wizard was finally discovered that he might be part of the fun. Antonin had a few _issues_ with his fellow Russian. Forgetting the fact that Antonin's name was the _very first_ name he named in his trial, Karkaroff had a really bad habit of touching what did not belong to him.

He might never forgive Karkaroff for that night in his seventh year when his anger and his pride made him toss Hermione aside. Nor would he ever forgive him for all of the other times he drew Hermione's attention away from Antonin. The wizard had been a menace, but a menace that his witch cared a great deal for. He would never understand why exactly. Fucking worthless in his opinion. Didn't even know the proper way to slice a Muggle's throat so they couldn't scream. _Fucking idiot._

There were many more frivolous gatherings held in the opulent formal rooms of the Lestrange Manor while its inhabitants struggled to come to grips with their new reality. His master summoned them to his side in an increasing frequency just to be certain his supporters were well and truly there. He had always been paranoid but the last of his sanity seemed to be as lost as the nose on his face. Antonin also struggled to keep his true feelings to himself. Years in Azkaban would kill a wizard not well-versed in Occlumency. To keep hold of one's mind, a prisoner had to have the ability to close it at will. A helpful skill in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.

"My Lord, you honor me with this mission," Lucius purred from his knees in front of their master.

"Do _not_ disappoint me, Lucius," he warned.

One by one the chosen members of their mission to retrieve the prophecy fell to their knees in the Malfoys' drawing room to kiss the hem of their master's robes. Antonin was pleased to finally be out of the Secret-Kept Lestrange Manor and doing _something_ useful. It sounded like a simple enough task. They should be in there and out of there with plenty of time to meet up with his date that evening. Pretty, long-legged Viola Richmond might have been young enough to his daughter, but the more time Antonin spent outside of prison, the younger he felt.

It should have been simple. That's what they all agreed when the members of their group discussed the plans to have Harry Potter retrieve the prophecy for their Lord. No one expected he would bring friends. Not even the Weasley brat and the frizzy-haired Muggleborn. Antonin stood next to Rabastan, just behind the little group of baby Order members and shook his head at their foolishness. Every single one of them was going to die before the day was out and their lives began.

Rabastan's gloved hand reached over and grasped Antonin's forearm in a crushing grip. Even in their voluminous robes and silver masks, he could tell that his fellow Death Eater was tense. What was he so worried about? They were children for Rowena's sake! Hardly a challenge. When his fingers dug further into his skin, Antonin moved his full attention away from Lucius' pompous speech to where Rabastan's masked gaze was focused.

Surely he was not seeing what he thought he was seeing. The girl with Potter looked exactly like Hermione, _his_ Hermione. There was hardly enough time to process what he was witnessing before the shout of _REDUCTO_ threw everyone into a mad state of chaos as glass spheres filled with inane prophecies shattered all around them. Rabastan lurched forward, his attention focused entirely on the girl that resembled his late cousin and got a Potter elbow to the face for his efforts.

The chase began in earnest. All six children led them around the Department of Mysteries, attempting to fight as they went along. These children had no hope of success with their stunning spells and disarming spells. Did they not understand they would need to employ harsher tactics to stop their enemies? He and Jugson cornered three of them. An impediment jinx shouted together knocked all of the teenagers back.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" Antonin heard himself shouting to the other Death Eaters scattered around the department. "IN AN OFFICE OFF-"

" _Silencio!_ "

Antonin felt his words cut off before he could reveal their position for additional assistance. An attempt to remove the spell non-verbally resulted only in disappointment. He _hated_ being silenced. How many times had Hermione done so during an argument or even simply just to annoy him? Too many times to recall.

He stared at the tiny witch congratulating her friend on his well-place _petrificus totalus_ on his incompetent partner. There was simply no way he was really seeing Hermione. It was impossible. She was only a figment of his seriously deranged mind. A hallucination sent to torment the last bit of sanity he retained from Azkaban out of his body. He would not stand for it!

Purple fire shot out of the tip of his wand. It was a spell he created himself not long before he accepted his Mark. Hermione hated it. Told him he should never use the curse on anyone. He smiled indulgently at her and promised he would never use it again. The added 'in your presence' was simply tacked on the end of his sentence inside his head. How fitting that he strike his Hermione hallucination with the very spell she made him promise to never use so many years before.

Potter rushed predictably to the side of his fallen friend. Antonin stalked across the office, kicking the other boy in the face and breaking his wand. Removing his mask, he tried to communicate with Potter without the benefit of speech that he would do the same to him that he did to his likely dying little girlfriend if he didn't hand over the prophecy. Potter was less than helpful. Instead of complying with his request, Potter simply hit _him_ with a _petrificus totalus_. As Antonin's stiffened body crashed to the hard floor, his thoughts mainly consisted of he should've seen that jinx coming.

Later, when all of the excitement of the failed expedition died down, long after Albus Dumbledore came to the rescue of his delinquent students, and his master exposed his existence to the rest of the world, Antonin settled his weary body down on a thin mattress he'd hoped to never see again. Six months away from Azkaban was not nearly long enough. He could not believe he was back where he started.

Was it all worth it? Of course not. He'd learned his lessons a lifetime ago. His punishment for the brashness of his youth would be an eternity in Hell. He did not even have to die first.

Antonin stared at the stone wall that had comprised his view for fourteen years. His thoughts drifted back to the debacle at the Ministry. How could they have failed so spectacularly? Only the crazy bitch managed to escape with the Dark Lord. His disgraced brothers were all around him, up and down the corridor likely thinking the same disparaging thoughts. Lucius' sniffles in the cell next door grated on his nerves. How could they have failed against _children_? Children!

Hermione's face flashed into his mind. Why did he imagine her in the face of that girl everyone referred to as Potter's Mudblood? She was fifteen or sixteen years old. He was rubbish at determining ages. Everyone looked like a child to him after more than a decade locked up in his own mind. A small smile crept onto his face at the thought of what he was doing fifteen or sixteen years ago. Until Hermione's disappearance and Tommy's murder, they had been good years. He had been _happy_. Even with his witch comfortably living in sin with Baby Shacklebolt.

Thoughts of a rather more intimate nature popped into his head. On a hot July night he walked into the Leaky Cauldron to dull his senses with a glass or several of fire whiskey. Seated at the bar and conspicuously alone was the woman he never should have let get away. She was crying and drunk and very, very sad. He really should have left her alone, but he couldn't. Two drinks and a quick Apparition to his flat turned into one of the most enjoyable, most passionate nights of his entire life.

He woke up hoping that she was going to give him another chance. What was the old Muggle saying? 'Fifth times the charm'? Well, he certainly hoped their fifth shot at a relationship would be the charm, be the one that finally stuck until they were old and falling apart. Her pillow was empty. Only a long strand of her hair curled up on the pillowcase proved she had been there at all. Five months later she was gone for good. No one ever discovered her body. How was it possible that almost sixteen years had passed since he last held the witch in his arms?

Antonin sat up straight on his horrible mattress. Sixteen years since they last made love. Five months later she vanished without a trace. Everyone suspected she was dead. Assumed she had been another casualty of the war. But… what if she wasn't? What if she ran away because she had a secret? Something she couldn't share with anyone? What if she was… _pregnant_?

"Fuck!"

What if he just cursed his own daughter thinking she was her mother's apparition taunting him from beyond the grave?


	4. Unexpected Kindness - Dean

Unexpected Kindness

Dean

Leaving the safety of Marjorie Shafiq's house to live rough was a jarring and unpleasant experience for Dean Thomas. He had never really been forced to endure any kind of hardship in his life. Even after his biological father disappeared forever and he lived alone with his single mother for the first few years of his life, they had been provided for. His mother once admitted that frequently she would open the front door to find an envelope stuffed with money just lying on the floor with the rest of the post. No return address. No postmark.

He was almost one hundred percent positive that the money came from the funny, tiny elderly lady that always dropped in randomly to visit. No one in his family could remember the first time they ever met Margie. She just seemed to have appeared one day. Everyone loved her from his mother to his stepfather down to his youngest little sister. They all were excited any time someone opened the front door to announce she had stopped by for a call.

When she arrived on their doorstep the summer before his Seventh and final year at Hogwarts to tell him it was no longer safe for him to go to school, his parents had been shocked. For most of his life he had known the woman and had never once suspected that she was a witch. She had to perform several small spells to convince his parents that she was telling the truth. Somehow she knew that Dean would not be safe and specifically came to London to take him back to her own home in Hogsmeade. Margie promised to send word to his terrified parents when she could.

After he stayed hidden in Margie's large house with Ted Tonks for more than three months, living so close to the castle had become too dangerous. Random raids were being conducted on all the homes in the village. Aberforth Dumbledore had a special tunnel constructed in his basement that went straight to Margie's basement. She explained that it had been a safety feature he had put in at the end of the First War when his daughter had gone missing. If one of them was in danger, the hope was that they could get to the other in time. More than once he and Ted huddled in the basement of The Hog's Head waiting for the all clear signal.

He did not understand why he could not just come right out and claim his magical inheritance from Margie. Without even meaning to, he stumbled upon a picture of his father in her house early on. Knowing that Ted was an old friend of the witch, Dean showed him the picture and asked an unsuspecting Ted who it was. Ted smiled before declaring him to be Margie's oldest grandson. Almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Ted seemed to wish he had not spoken at all. Any further questions about the mysterious man he knew nothing about were ignored.

His father was a wizard. Why could he not share that knowledge to ensure his safety? Often his thoughts drifted to the same place when he and Ted settled into their campsite each night. The only conclusion he could come up with was that perhaps it was more dangerous for him to be outed as Margie's great-grandson than it was to be a known Muggleborn. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that his father was the one responsible. What had he done to be so hated? The possibilities of his father's crimes ran rampant through his overactive imagination. Ted would not answer any questions. Simply told him that there would come a day when he would know the full truth, but it was not his place to make it that day.

He hated being left out and ignorant. As much as he admired Ted, he grew frustrated and even surly with the man. The arrival of Dirk Cresswell with his goblin friends helped ease the tension that was steadily growing between the two wizards. They were a welcome distraction to the gnawing certainty that Ted was keeping a large, possibly dangerous, secret from Dean. He did not want to grow to hate the man who was so quick to laugh and could tell some of the dirtiest jokes he had ever heard, but it was becoming more difficult with each passing day living on the run with no answers.

There came a night in late February or possibly early March that Dean's entire world shifted, leaving him with even more galling questions. He could not be sure of the exact date. Their small group remained constantly on the move. Time seemed to pass all at once too hastily and too slowly to keep an accurate count. As they did most nights, the five of them sat around the small campfire speculating on how much longer the war would last.

Everything happened so abruptly that Dean hardly had time to draw his wand before Ted was pushing him behind his much broader body. Snatchers somehow had discovered their whereabouts and began Apparating in to completely surround their group. Dirk was a hothead who refused to be taken back to Azkaban. In the ensuing chaos of his multitude of thrown curses, the goblin Griphook was able to slip away almost unnoticed.

"There's no need to fight!" shouted a deep voice from the darkness.

Ted gripped Dean's arm and demanded that he return his wand to his pocket. It took several requests from the older wizard before he complied.

"Don't give them a reason to hurt you, son," Ted begged in a whisper.

A couple of reeking Snatchers removed their wands from their possession. Dirk continued to fight a losing battle. Gornuk was caught in the crossfire. All it took was one moment of inattention as he stared in horror at his deceased friend to take Dirk down. Realizing that two of their companions were lying dead on the ground, Dean felt his fear begin to grow in leaps. The best case scenario of how their evening would end would be with him being chucked into Azkaban for the rest of his life. Worst was death.

More shouting from a deep and authoritative voice shook the night air. Dean gripped the back of Ted's jumper, terrified of what was about to happen to the survivors. A dark eyed and dark haired man approached them. Dressed in the black robes that had become synonymous with the Death Eaters, Dean was afraid of the man. He felt Ted's entire body tense up when he seemed to recognize the man. When he stepped closer and his features were awash with a combination of moonlight and light from the fire, it was easy to tell that the Death Eater was not angry or annoyed. He was sad.

"Antonin Dolohov, it's been a very long time," Ted declared, the confidence in his strong voice a balm to Dean.

If he could remain fearless, so could Dean. Of course the moment Ted's words sunk in, his mettle was tested. Everyone knew who Antonin Dolohov was. He was one of the most feared of all of You Know Who's loyal followers. His reputation most certainly preceded him. Dean could not forget that he was the wizard who almost killed his fellow Gryffindor Hermione Granger in the Department of Mysteries.

"Ted…" Dolohov's tone sounded almost pained. The formidable man sighed and took a deep breath before speaking again. "These imbeciles have been tracking your lot for days."

"It's not as if we had anywhere else we could go with _your_ lot in charge, Tony."

Dean was shocked by how informally the two men were addressing each other. Based on some of the expressions of the dimwitted Snatchers gathered around them, he was not the only one. Clearly there was some kind of history. They seemed similar ages. Maybe they knew each other from school.

"Maybe we should just go ahead and kill these two like the others," one of the more vocal Snatchers suggested.

Dolohov's wand was pressed into the man's throat in mere seconds. He announced to the gathered men that they were now his personal prisoners. Several of the Snatchers began to openly grumble about the audacity and arrogance of the Death Eaters. Dolohov sent more than one of them a harsh stinging hex for their troubles.

When he turned back around to address Ted, Dean felt inexplicably less afraid knowing that he was the responsibility of the Death Eater. At least the man did not have the same murderous glint in his eyes as so many of the others. He somehow knew that Dolohov was not about to let his comrades kill them.

"These really the kind of people you choose to surround yourself with, Tony?"

"Teddy…"

"You used to be better than this. Remember? You were the best man at my fucking wedding!"

Dean was shocked to hear that Ted used to be friends with a notorious murderer. Wasn't Dolohov infamous for torturing Muggles? Dolohov sighed again at Ted's statement. It was clear that he did not want to meet his former friend's eyes again. He looked past him straight to Dean, seeming to notice him for the first time. Dolohov's eyes widened.

"What's your name?"

His voice was different when he asked his question, almost quiet. Dean did not see any sense in lying to the man. They were both already caught and wandless.

"Dean Thomas."

Dolohov's eyes widened even more. He couldn't understand why. Surely this man did not know who he was. It wasn't as if he was even a close friend of Harry's. They were just roommates. Instead of asking for clarification, Dolohov turned to look again at his old friend. Ted began to nod his head in some sort of silent confirmation. Dean was thoroughly confused. The two elder wizards seemed to be having a conversation entirely without words.

"These men are my prisoners," Dolohov repeated. "The Dark Lord wants them specifically."

Dean gulped. Ted reached back to pat his arm reassuringly. At Dolohov's second pronouncement, the Snatchers began to argue again amongst themselves. They might have continued on a great deal longer if the loud crack of Apparition did not startle them all. Dean could feel Ted tense once more.

"I've got this all under control, Fenrir," Dolohov stated.

His fear from earlier returned tenfold. Fenrir Greyback was legendary and not for a positive reason. The werewolf stalked towards them with a terrifying grin on his face.

"Looks like you've got a couple of Mudbloods, Antonin."

"They are my prisoners."

Greyback stalked closer to Ted. Dean could tell that his friend was terrified and Greyback was delighted.

"Ted Tonks. It's been a long time, mate."

"I am not your _mate_ , Greyback."

"No, that you're not. In fact, as I recall, you got in the way of me claiming my _mate_."

Greyback snarled. Ted stood up taller, seemingly determined to remain brave.

"She was _not_ your mate. She loathed you."

"Oh, but her body always responded so nicely to me when I was near."

Ted turned his attention away from the werewolf to his old friend.

"You just going to allow him to talk about her that way? The woman you once claimed to love?"

"Fenrir, Ted is my prisoner. Kindly take your filthy minions and bugger off."

"I don't think so. Tonks and I have an old score to settle."

Just as had happened when they were first attacked, everything happened too quickly for Dean to respond. He stood frozen in place as Greyback attacked his protector. Ted was defenseless against the werewolf without his wand. Dolohov stepped in front of Dean, using his body as a shield. When Ted's screams grew loud, Dolohov even attempted to keep Dean from seeing what was happening. Dolohov could not have helped Ted if he wanted to. They were sorely outnumbered.

It could not have been long before the gut-wrenching shrieks from Ted ended too abruptly. Dean did not want to look at his friend. Only a sense that he owed it to the man who bravely stood between him and a werewolf made him stare down at the blood covered mess that no longer even resembled the wizard it once was. Greyback stepped over Ted's cooling body towards Dean. Dolohov stopped him with his wand in his throat.

"The boy is _my_ prisoner now, Fenrir. The Dark Lord wants all of Potter's school chums and close friends brought directly to him."

"Fine, but I'm coming with you."

Dolohov's laughter rang throughout the still night air. It felt eerie and wrong.

"The Dark Lord's disgust at your stench is well known. You may all leave. I can handle one wandless Mudblood on my own."

Reluctantly, Greyback's contingency of Snatchers Disapparated from the area one by one. Their werewolf leader was the last to disappear with shouted promises that this would not be the last Dolohov heard of his displeasure. Dolohov simply rolled his eyes and snorted. Dean was petrified to be alone with the man.

Without saying a word, the dark eyed wizard pushed Dean's wand back into his open hand. He never even saw him steal it back from the Snatcher, realizing that he must have taken it in all of the excitement of Greyback's attack.

"Run away, Dean. Run away as fast as you can and don't get caught again. I likely won't be there to save you again."

Despite his orders, Dean was still frozen in place. He could not grasp what was happening. His eyes fell back to Ted's lifeless and mangled body.

"But Ted…"

"I'll clean him up before anyone sees him. He deserved better than to die like an animal."

Dean saw the familiar wand he frequently saw in Ted's hand being held almost reverently by the Death Eater. Following the line of his sight, Dolohov promised him that he would get the magical artefact to Ted's widow.

"Dean, please run, son."

Spinning around on his heel, the scared and exhausted wizard turned away from Dolohov and took off sprinting into the darkness of the forest. He caught up with the goblin Griphook before the night was over.


	5. Pillow Talk - Regnault

_This one-shot is dedicated to_ _ **Kreeblim Sabs**_ _and_ _ **Caleb66**_ _who gave me the inspiration on Tumblr. It's a bit short, but I could not drag it out any further without it being too slow. I imagine most of the scenes will run between 1,500 and 2,500 words. Now I'm going to go back and work on the next chapter of the main story!_

* * *

Pillow Talk

Regnault

The Head of the Lestrange Family rolled onto his back and sighed. For days his mind had been wandering to places he would have preferred it not to venture. Memories of the night of his niece's party celebrating her debut into their society a week earlier continually played over and over in his overwrought head. He did not understand the girl in the slightest.

Sensing her lover was experiencing a bit of distress, Lorraine Malfoy snuggled up to his chest. Their affair was one of the worst-kept secrets of their social circle. Sixteen years had come and gone since they first cheated on their spouses together to discover what they had was more than a physical attraction. They both had been forced into arranged marriages by their domineering Pureblood parents. Once Lorraine had done her duty and provided her husband with an heir, she was all but free to behave how she wished. As long as she did not openly flaunt her dalliances, no one was really there to object. Certainly Abraxas had a veritable harem of mistresses he liked to consort with on a regular basis. Even a wizard or two if idle gossip was to be believed.

Part of Regnault's issues with his late wife was she did not want him to stray from their bed. She was a naïve romantic determined to love her husband despite all of the odds being against her. The late Mrs. Lestrange provided him an heir and a spare, but wished to have even more children. He was willing only because he had always wanted a little girl. Elanor died after trying to give birth to their daughter much too early. Regnault saw no need to marry again. Especially not when Lorraine was always so eager to warm his bed.

"Is something wrong, darling?" Lorraine asked, peppering his bare chest with soft kisses in an effort to be soothing.

"Just simply replaying the other night over in my head."

"I know we are unlikely to agree on this, but I believe your niece had a fair point. Why is it all right for her male cousins to sneak countless, nameless witches into their bedrooms and she is not allowed to do the same?"

Regnault groaned at her response. Were all the women in his life intent on ganging up on him? He could not bear it if were the truth. Part of him wished he had not felt the need to vent his frustrations to the witch he was in love with. Lorraine could be _too_ insightful and had a tendency to express her opinions behind closed doors whether they were requested or not.

Hermione frustrated him greatly. Every moment he spent trying to figure her out only ended with the wizard being even more confused. He was beginning to understand why Father had always been so angry with Sia. Regnault loved Hermione even if he did not know how to show her. From the moment they met in her damned father's pub, he had been longing to form a close relationship with his niece. He could not understand why he was always mucking up his chances.

"She should be preparing for a respectable marriage, not wasting her time fornicating with random wizards who are not remotely good enough for her."

Regnault's blood pressure rose with his vexation. He was well aware of the fact that he was a difficult man. It was never his intention to push the girl away. Lorraine began to run her fingers through his hair and kissed him again to calm him down. Regnault sighed again.

"I told the Karkaroff boy that he was not allowed back in my home until he was honorable enough to marry my niece."

Lorraine giggled like the school girl she had not been in many, many years, causing her partner in adultery to feel offended. Regnault huffed only ensuring she laughed harder.

"I am sure that declaration went over quite well. Should we be expecting a Christmas wedding?"

Several strained moments passed before Regnault realized she was simply teasing. He was determined that he would not so much as crack a smile because he did not like it when Lorraine acted childish enough to tease him. Of course the longer he tried to keep his expression neutral, the more humor he found in her statement. In the end, they were both laughing for several minutes.

"She reminds me so much of Sia. Do you know what she told me the boy was doing when I caught them half-dressed alone in her bedroom?"

Lorraine giggled again before answering.

"No, you only told me how angry you were."

"She had the _nerve_ to tell me that the boy was in her room to read her a bedtime story."

Her loud laughter rang throughout his expansive master suite. Regnault tried very hard not to join in, but he could feel his lips twitch.

"Yes, she does sound a great deal like Roesia," Lorraine agreed. "Witty. I think I might like her."

"I like her too. She has a great deal of spirit. Too much at times, I fear."

They lay there silent wrapped up in each other's arms for a few minutes. Both of their minds were wandering.

"Her father is an odd man," declared Lorraine. "Always has been. Dumbledore used to be a proud Pureblood name until their father married a Mudblood and ended up in Azkaban."

"Aberforth does not believe that I think her good enough to be a member of this family."

"Well, do you?"

Regnault sighed once again. He was still angry about his limited interactions with his only niece. There was a definite anger he was holding onto towards his younger sister for taking her away. If Sia had not died so unexpectedly of some filthy tropical Muggle disease, would he ever have met Hermione? He did not think that he would have. Roesia was always remarkably stubborn.

Now that he had had the chance to meet his niece, he detested that their meetings were always fraught with tension. He knew he should watch what he said, but in the heat of the moment he tended to blurt out what he really should not say. It was a terrible habit.

"She is my blood. What is more important than blood?"

"Then it seems to me that you should strive to be kinder."

Like a petulant teenager, Regnault could not prevent the loud sigh from coming out of his mouth. Lorraine simply giggled again. Striving to be kinder was certainly easier said than done. He did not understand Hermione. Not one tiny bit. She was as much a mystery to him as Sia was to their father.

"Our Lord Voldemort was quite taken with Hermione. Did you see them dance?" he asked.

"Of course I did. Everyone saw them dance. I was standing near the eldest Black girl when his hand slipped further down her body than was appropriate. Bellatrix was very angry."

That gesture had certainly not gone unnoticed by him either. If it had been any other wizard present at that party to take such liberties with his niece, it would have been Regnault's responsibility to call them out for their poor behavior. Naturally, Lord Voldemort was an entirely different story. Regnault remembered him from Hogwarts. He was not to be trifled with then and he certainly was not to be trifled with now either.

"He is interested in cultivating some kind of relationship with her when he returns from his trip."

"A _relationship_? What kind exactly?"

"Nothing as salacious as I expect you are imagining, my dear."

"Well, his hand did linger on her arse for _several_ long moments."

"'Arse', Lorraine? Is that not a bit of a common word for you to use?"

Lorraine playfully slapped Regnault's chest. He laughed and pulled her closer to kiss her again.

"I believe it was more in line with a political maneuver really. She is a member of two well-respected families. I know our Lord does not care much for her other uncle. Perhaps he sees aligning himself with his niece as being a bit of a slap in Albus' face."

"Yes, I imagine it will be. Her father's family is almost as prideful as her mother's."

Regnault chose to ignore her comment against his family. Besides, it was not as if she was exactly wrong in her sentiments.

"He will not return for two years. A lot can happen in that time. She might even run away just like her mother did."

"Abraxas speaks non-stop about this man. If he is half as dangerous or powerful as he claims he is, it would be in your best interest not to upset him. If he has plans for your niece and you drive her away, he will be very unhappy."

"You are right as usual, my dear. I must do what I can to make my niece happy enough to stay. She is serious about finishing school. There is still time. I will try harder."

Lorraine leaned up to kiss him again.

"Do the girl a favor and take those bloody purity alarms off of her bed. She's young. Let her enjoy herself."


	6. Visit From an Old Friend - Andromeda

_This scene is dedicated to_ _ **trinatron**_ _, the 750_ _th_ _reviewer! I can't believe this story has gotten that many already. Thank you so much!_

Visit from an Old Friend

Andromeda

She had not been able to sleep all night long. Normally Andromeda had no problems sleeping. It used to be a running joke with her husband. Ted often struggled with erratic sleeping patterns and periodic bouts of insomnia. He would often stare at her while she slept soundly and just sigh in disgust. Usually loud enough to wake her up so she could suffer right along with him. More than one argument had been fought in the middle of the night because of it.

Sleep had been difficult to find for months. Right around the time her husband was forced to go out into the world on the run. How strange that she had gotten used to having the wizard beside her to the point that she could not relax without him stealing the blankets at night. Twenty-five years had come and gone since they exchanged vows at the Ministry of Magic with Nymphadora already present in her womb. They had not always been easy years, but they had all been full of love and laughter. Everything she could not have expected from her first fiancé.

Andromeda rolled across the mattress onto Ted's side of the bed. It felt cold, the scent of his hair completely gone from his pillow. A glance at the clock showed the time to be after one in the morning. She could not explain why she was so uneasy. It felt as if something was about to happen or perhaps, something already had. Knowing that sleep would not find her any time soon, she slipped out from under the covers. Pulling on a thick robe over her nightgown as she exited her bedroom, she tiptoed quietly past the room her daughter and son-in-law were sleeping in. Loud snores from within at least proved that her only child was finally able to fall asleep. She remembered how difficult it was to sleep the last few weeks of her pregnancy.

Once inside the darkened kitchen she set about brewing a pot of chamomile tea. Though she detested the taste of the liquid, she could not deny that it made relaxing quite a bit easier. Andromeda stood over the sink staring out the window to the back garden for several minutes while the tea steeped. A knot in her stomach twisted and clenched with no relief. _Something_ was happening. _Something_ was going on out there and it was bad. Very, very bad.

Since the day Marjorie Shafiq sent her a coded message advising her that Ted was unable to stay hidden in her home any longer, Andromeda lived in constant fear that he was going to be caught. He still had plenty of Muggle relatives that she knew would give him sanctuary in a second, but he feared putting them at risk. His warm nature and kind heart always won out over his innate need for survival. While his Slytherin wife could understand his desire to keep his loved ones safe, she had trouble at times with her frustration that he was more concerned with others than himself. It was a foreign concept in her House and in her biological family. One she struggled with consistently the longer the war raged on with her husband out there unprotected.

Quiet footsteps behind Andromeda made her jump. Embarrassed at being startled by her son-in-law, she smiled at Remus. He hastily apologized. She knew the full moon was only a couple of days away. Between that and his constant worry about the safety of his loved ones, he had difficulty sleeping as well. He had been feeling anxious about his impending fatherhood on top of everything. She pulled two teacups down from the cupboard.

"Dora is finally asleep," he stated, easing down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "She's been crying all day today."

Andromeda almost dropped the teapot she was carrying over to the table at his announcement. That was certainly news to her. Though she had not been around her daughter much that day, when she had, Nymphadora seemed to be keeping up a strong front. Of course, she should have remembered that though she had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, her daughter was every bit as much her daughter as Ted's. She knew when to keep a secret from her mother when she needed to.

"She's worried about Ted," he explained, though there was no need. "And Kingsley too."

"I heard him on Potterwatch the other night," Andromeda replied. "He seems to be keeping ahead of You Know Who's forces. Silly man, breaking the taboo. He has always been a brash Gryffindor."

She smiled as one of many memories about her old friend crossed her mind. It saddened her a great deal that they were not as close as they once were. As soon as Hermione disappeared years earlier, they remained close in the beginning, but as time wore on, they simply drifted apart. Kingsley would always hold a special place in her heart. Her daughter thought he hung the moon and admired him greatly. Andromeda was glad that she had had the opportunity to be trained under a talented auror like Kings.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked, every inch of his exhausted face lined with concern.

She did not want to tell him the fear that had taken up residence in her gut. No matter how many deep breaths she took or how many times she silently assured herself that she had nothing to fear, Andromeda just knew that something was happening. Remus would not appreciate her keeping the secret from him no matter how bad it sounded. She trusted the man to not tell his wife anything that might upset her if it was unnecessary. Andromeda took a deep breath and sipped her tea.

"I have a terrible feeling that something bad has happened," she admitted. "It may just be further proof that I'm nothing but a silly woman, but I can't shake it, Remus. I feel like… I don't know. I feel like _something_ is missing. Or gone."

Every word she spoke was in a whisper, but Remus did not even need his enhanced werewolf hearing to catch every syllable. He sighed. Somehow Andromeda understood that he was thinking along the same lines that she was without him even verbalizing his thoughts. The _something_ that was wrong, that was missing, that was _gone_ … was Ted. Her intuition told her that it would only be a matter of time before an official owl from the Ministry flew through her kitchen window bearing the news that she would never see her husband again. Remus reached across the table to take her hand in his.

"We don't know that yet, Andromeda. Best not to jump to conclusions before we have all of the facts."

Remus squeezed her hand once before pulling his back. They sat in the stillness of the kitchen sipping their tea for several minutes without exchanging another word. There was simply no need. Everything had already been said a hundred times before over similar pots of tea at the same table. Until Voldemort was eradicated once and for all, they were all in danger of the same fate that she feared had finally caught up with her husband.

A strange wave of energy passed through Andromeda's body, startling her enough to drop her teacup. It crashed to the table spilling its contents all over her lap. She jumped up from the chair, almost overturning the chair in the process. Forgetting that she was trying to be quiet for the sake of her heavily pregnant sleeping daughter, she rushed to the front door. Remus was only steps behind her, obviously concerned about the sanity of his mother-in-law.

Andromeda yanked open the front door without taking a second to even think her actions through completely. Just as she somehow knew to expect it, there was someone on the pavement outside the front gate. Dressed in dark robes and staring intently at the house, she covered her mouth with her hand when she realized who was waiting for her. Without even bothering to put on any shoes, she started to cross the threshold.

"Andromeda, no," Remus said, reaching for her arm. "You can't go out there. It's not safe."

"I am in no danger, Remus," she assured him. "It's an old friend come to visit."

"At after one in the morning? In Death Eater robes? Be sensible, Andromeda!"

She shrugged her arm out of his grasp. Maybe Remus did not trust the wizard standing on the other side of her gate, but she did. While she could not explain it in any words that would make sense to anyone else, she knew that Antonin Dolohov was not standing outside her front garden in the middle of the night to cause her any harm. She was not afraid of him despite his reputation and his crimes. Remus shadowed her every step to the end of the brick walkway. It annoyed her that he did not trust her judgment.

"Antonin, what are you doing here?" Andromeda asked, the strength and composure in her voice at odds with the fear coursing through her entire body.

Her old friend had never been a man of many words. It was a trait that she could respect in a world full of people who did not seem to know when to close their mouth. Without uttering a single word, he reached his hand across the top of the gate. Three items lay atop the palm of his large hand. Three items that confirmed her suspicions.

She would not break down. She would not cry. Not until she had all of the answers and she was alone in her bedroom. It did not matter that more than half of her life had passed since she was last welcomed into her family's home. She was still a Black and Blacks kept their emotions under control at all times in front of others. Only when one was alone could they crack the practiced façade of invulnerability.

Ted would have never gone anywhere without his wand or the pocket watch she scrimped and saved to give him for their third anniversary. Or his wedding ring. Seeing the simple, cheap band of gold that was all she could afford when they got married resting on Antonin's hand made everything real. More than once she had begged Ted to allow her to replace the simple band with something nicer or more substantial. Each time he'd kissed the top of her head and told her that he had no need of another ring. His was just fine, thank you.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, reaching across the gate to grasp Ted's prized possessions.

Before Antonin had an opportunity to tell the tale she knew she did not really want to hear, the night air was filled with a deep, feral growl. Remus gently pushed her aside to point his wand straight at Antonin's throat. The Death Eater did not reach for his own wand as Andromeda fully expected him to. He simply held up both of his hands to show that he was unarmed and sighed. Andromeda _needed_ to know what happened even if she did not want to know. If Remus killed the messenger, she might never know the truth. She stepped between the two men, ignoring a second growl from the werewolf.

"Lower your wand, Remus," she ordered in a tone that would allow for no arguments. It was a tone she had heard her father use on many occasions. "There has obviously been enough blood shed already tonight."

Reluctantly Remus lowered his wand. His eyes never left Antonin. When she was satisfied that there would be no immediate violence, she returned her attention back to Antonin and repeated her question.

"Greyback happened," Antonin answered.

Andromeda had to remind herself that she was not going to cry in front of the men. Many years had passed since Ted last crossed the path of the vicious werewolf. They had a history that Ted never fully disclosed to his wife. When she begged him to tell her why the crazed lunatic had it out for him, Ted would kiss her and plead with her to not ask any more questions. He confessed that revealing the circumstances of their disagreement would be revealing a secret that was not his to reveal.

"Greyback?" asked Remus. His anger was steadily growing. The closer he got to the full moon, the harder it was for him to keep a cool head. "What could he possibly have to do with Ted?"

"Ted and his travelling companions were tracked," Antonin explained. "Took the Snatchers a few days, but I was asked to supervise their efforts tonight. We were hoping that we were tracking Potter and his little mates. Didn't expect Ted or the others. There was a struggle with some of the others, but Ted remained calm. I claimed him as my personal prisoner. He would've been safe with me…"

Remus scoffed at the remark. Obviously he did not believe Antonin would have done what he could have to keep his old friend safe. Andromeda gave Remus a sharp, silent look to keep quiet.

"Greyback arrived a short time later. He was less inclined to be merciful."

"What did he do, Antonin?" she demanded, her tone rising slightly.

"Andy, you don't want the details," Antonin insisted.

" _Tell_ me."

Her husband was a brave man. He died in a deplorable manner, but he was a brave man. She repeated that to herself multiple times while Antonin described in what she was sure was limited detail of how the monster savaged the man she hoped to grow old with. It was a dream that would never come true. By the time he was finished, Remus was practically bouncing in fury. His wand ended up under Antonin's chin for a second time.

"How naïve do you think we are, Dolohov? Do you really think that we believe you had nothing to do with Ted's murder?"

"I will say this only one more time, Lupin, as it's clear you did not hear me the first time. Ted Tonks was one of my best friends. I was outnumbered and my _godson_ was there. If I was killed, he would've been too. I will always regret what happened to Ted. That should've never happened, but no, I was not involved. I did what I could."

"I don't believe you!"

Remus' hand was shaking in his anger. Andromeda placed her hand on his forearm, gently urging him to drop his wand. Forgetting that Antonin had once been a friend and had brought Ted's belongings to her at great risk to his safety, it would not do to murder a Death Eater on the pavement in front of her home. They did not need any unnecessary attention brought to their home. She knew they were already under surveillance. They would be unable to hide any violence.

"Thank you, Antonin," she said, leaning over the gate to embrace the wizard. "I am glad that a friend brought me the news."

When they broke apart she could see Remus was bouncing again on his feet, eager to curse the man. Antonin sneered. He was not a wizard to be trifled with. Andromeda wished that Remus would calm his emotions. Harming Antonin would not bring Ted back to them.

"Out of the respect and admiration I have always had for your in-laws, Lupin, I will not draw my wand against you."

"How noble," Remus spat.

"But if you _ever_ point your wand at me again, be prepared for a fight. I will not show you mercy a third time."

Antonin nodded in Andromeda's direction a final time. Moments later he Disapparated, leaving her alone with her furious son-in-law. He was positively vibrating with rage.

"He is a liar! If I ever see him again, I _will_ kill him."

"For your sake, Remus, I hope you never come face to face with him again. He is not a wizard to be dismissed."

Andromeda wished to be alone. She turned around to head back to her cold, empty bed. She would not cry until she was alone. She would not break down until she was safe inside her locked bedroom.


	7. Reluctant Return - Igor

_This scene is dedicated to_ _ **Gaerven**_ _for being the 1000_ _th_ _reviewer to the main story! Thank you!_

* * *

Reluctant Return

Igor

He didn't know why he was returning to the country where his life had gone terribly wrong. If it had been his decision, he never would have come back. Only the school governors had the power to force him to return by dangling his coveted position in front of him. There really was nothing for him to do but to attend the Triwizard Tournament. Durmstrang must be given the opportunity to prove themselves the best once again. Too many years had passed since they had a Champion.

Igor Karkaroff's stomach twisted in knots the closer they got to Hogwarts. Knowing that his students had the navigation and rowing of the ship well under control, he slipped into his private stateroom to be alone. Part of him feared that he would be sick and none of his impressionable students needed to see that. They should remain afraid of him and what he was capable of.

Years earlier he fled from Great Britain with no intention of ever returning. Once he was removed from the irons in the Ministry courtroom and he was released, he left without looking back. He had made too many enemies to remain. An opportunity to become the Potions Master at Durmstrang seemed like just what he needed to start his new life. He worked hard to rise to the influential position of Headmaster. It was one of the few things he had done in his life that he was actually proud of. Too much of his life was spent indulged in actions he would later come to regret.

When the ship finally broke the surface of the Black Lake, he had calmed himself down to the point that he knew he would be able to project the persona he'd been perfecting for many years. He was a wizard that exuded confidence and even a hint of danger. It kept people from getting too close to him. Close relationships were better left in his past. He crossed the grounds with his students to greet Albus Dumbledore. Hogwarts' Headmaster was not a man he particularly cared for. Even forgetting the fact that they fought on opposite sides of the war years earlier, there was something about the silver haired wizard that always bothered him immensely. Igor hated the way the elder wizard stared at him as if he knew something about him that he didn't.

The first evening in the castle was dismal and uncomfortable to say the least. Knowing that he would be stuck within those grounds for months did nothing to improve his mood. The narrowed glances that Severus Snape shot in his direction certainly did not help. Once the feast was complete and the students sent on their way towards their respective beds, Dumbledore requested that he and the massive Frenchwoman join him in his office for a private discussion amongst the Heads of the schools. There were plenty of details about the tournament still left to discuss. Every second that passed in the man's presence was miserable. No wonder his niece used to avoid him at every opportunity.

"Igor is probably embarrassed to admit this," Dumbledore said with an irritating chuckle. "But I actually met him under some very _uncomfortable_ circumstances."

His protests were not enough to override Madame Maxime's tittering request that Dumbledore share the details.

"He was quite young and somehow managed to convince my niece to sneak out of the castle to meet him down in the village. A student approached me to tell me what happened. He feared for her safety. I rushed to the village and found my niece alone with Igor in his room at The Three Broomsticks."

"Oh my!" Olympe lauged.

"Yes, quite scandalous. Igor answered the door half-dressed in a fit of anger."

The combined laughter of the other two Heads made Igor lose his temper. He did not care for one of his favorite memories of Hogsmeade to be reduced to idle gossip. It took several minutes before they were able to continue with their ridiculous meeting.

Uncomfortable weeks passed quickly. Before he was even aware, he was preparing to attend the dreaded Yule Ball. If he had his wish, he would stay in his private stateroom on the ship with a bottle of fire whiskey and drink until either the bottle was empty or he was too drunk to stay awake. Between the disturbing darkening of the Mark on his arm, Snape's refusal to speak to him alone and the general melancholy that always struck him that time of year, Igor would've been content to not put on his finest dress robes and put on a false show of joy for his students' behalf.

His prized pupil had assured him that he was able to find an adequate dance partner to open the ball up with. Igor wasn't too concerned to be perfectly honest. A handsome boy like Viktor with all of his fame as a Seeker should have no problem finding a bevy of beautiful witches eager to attend the ball on his arm. As far as worrying about his Champion embarrassing his school with his lack of dancing skills, Igor knew that was unnecessary. His students all came from families that would insist their children be prepared for the most formal of occasions with extensive dancing and etiquette lessons as children. All he really had to worry about was whether or not Pavel Poliakoff could keep from staining his dress robes with whatever the Hogwarts elves were serving for dinner.

He lined up with the other staff members to await the entrance of the Champions with their dates. Already he was ready for the evening to be over. As the music began and the doors to the Great Hall opened, he stifled a yawn. It would not do to appear to be bored for such a momentous event. Truthfully, his eyes felt heavy. He would call it a night as soon as it was politely possible.

Krum brought his date in with a great deal of pride shining on his otherwise stoic face. She was unremarkable from the distance. If he had seen her around the castle before that moment, he was unaware. Igor turned his attention to the other Durmstrang students awaiting the beginning of the ball to ensure they were behaving in a manner that brought honor to their Institute. His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw Poliakoff with his date, some blonde in a purple gown. The boy was bound to do something embarrassing before the evening was over.

Before the dinner began, Krum brought his date over to introduce her to his Headmaster. Igor resisted the urge to sigh. As if he wanted to waste a moment meeting a child!

"This is Herm… Hermy-ninny…"

"Hermione Granger," the girl said for herself.

At the sound of the voice and at the mention of the familiar name, Igor's full attention fell on the girl in the periwinkle dress robes. He could feel his eyes narrow as he examined the girl. She looked remarkably like the Hermione he had known years earlier. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, could it? The same name, the same brown eyes he'd looked into a thousand times. Even her voice sounded the same. He knew he must have been making the girl feel ill at ease with his inspection but in that moment he could not be arsed to care.

Hermione Dumbledore had been one of his very best friends. He loved the woman even if their love wasn't the kind that poems and songs were written about. In his younger years he had been foolish enough to allow the remarkable woman to walk away from him because he was certain that in order for love to be real, it had to be passionate and all-consuming. How many times had he spent hours sitting companionably next to her on the same sofa or lying in the same bed absorbed in their own respective books? There had been an element of comfort around the witch that convinced him he could not possibly be in love with her. He assumed that real love meant being obsessed, never wanting to be out of their company. For years he convinced himself that Hermione was simply an excellent friend who he was fortunate enough to be intimate with on many, many _memorable_ occasions.

It wasn't until she disappeared right before Christmas fourteen years earlier that he understood that perhaps his feelings for the witch had been deeper than he realized. Of course by then it was too late to do anything about it. She was gone. Likely murdered by the monster Fenrir Greyback. Igor would never forgive himself for keeping her secret for so many years. He was the first person, possibly the only person, to come right out and admit to him who the monster was that violated her the New Year's right before he earned his Mastery. She only admitted that something happened to her after he woke her from a horrible nightmare one of the many nights she slept at his flat. And it was only because he guessed that Greyback was the culprit that he ever figured it out.

If only he had refused to allow her to talk him into keeping her secret silent… If only he had told her cousins or her father or either of her horrible uncles what he knew… If only… If only… If only…

He shook his head slightly. There was nothing to be gained for dwelling on "what ifs". Years had passed since he could have possibly been any use to save that poor girl. For years he was certain that she had just been another victim of the war that he wished he had never been involved in. Seeing his best friend grieve for his cousin knowing that he could have done _something_ did not get easier. And then the world seemed to implode around them as the months wore on.

But staring at the young witch in front of him made him wonder. Had Hermione survived? He couldn't imagine that she would fake her own death and just fade away without telling any of her loved ones where she went. Rod had fallen back into the bottle when he finally had to come to the conclusion that she would not be found. Rabastan got even more involved with his horrid sister-in-law's darkness as a means of his own personal punishment. Hermione's wizard, the younger Shacklebolt, had gone a bit mad in his righteous anger. Igor couldn't blame the poor man with his brother's broken body being discovered only days later.

And Dolohov had completely lost whatever tenuous hold he had on reality when Hermione went missing and the elder Shacklebolt was killed. Igor had been one of the Death Eaters sent by the Dark Lord in a fruitless attempt to calm the temperamental wizard down before he did something foolish. Of course he and the others had been too late to prevent Dolohov and others he had recruited from killing the Prewett twins in a brutal act of unnecessary violence.

Igor searched the young woman's face for any hint that she might have Dolohov's blood running through her veins. Clearly, if she _was_ Hermione's child, there was nothing in her countenance that screamed "Shacklebolt". She'd admitted to him that after Shacklebolt threw her out of their house and declared they were over a few months before she disappeared, that she'd found herself once again in Dolohov's bed. Was this girl a product of that night he knew Hermione regretted?

"'Granger'? I'm not familiar with the name," he replied. "Who are your parents?"

"My parents are Muggles. Dentists actually," she declared proudly.

While he did not have the first idea what a 'dentist' was, he felt certain that either the girl was mistaken about her true parentage or he was mistaken. There was simply no way that a powerful witch like Hermione would be content to live the rest of her life amongst Muggles.

"Not who I assumed you were after all."

He didn't mean to sneer at the girl. Later that night when he laid down in his bed to sleep he would replay that moment over and over again in his head. He had not been kind. No doubt the poor witch thought he was sneering at the fact that she was Muggleborn. Truthfully, he didn't care all that much about blood purity. There were more important matters to worry about. His anger was with the girl having the nerve to walk around with _his_ Hermione's name and looking so much like her. It was almost as if the universe were playing some cruel joke on the tired and lonely Headmaster.

His thoughts about the girl were quickly dismissed in favor of dwelling on what the changes in his Dark Mark could possibly mean. There were more pressing matters than Krum's date.


	8. The Worst Night - Rodolphus

The Worst Night

Rodolphus

He knew something was wrong the moment it happened. They all did. One moment he was standing in front of the fireplace in his father's study having the same tired discussion as to why there weren't any toddling Lestranges roaming the manor yet and the next he was lying on the floor clutching his arm to his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Regnault Lestrange so worried. At certain moments, it seemed that his father's capacity to love was still there. Rodolphus was almost positive that he lost the ability when his favorite member of their small family disappeared almost a year earlier.

The Lestrange family had known a great deal of tragedy in such a short time. First with the death of his beloved sister-in-law only weeks before she was expected to deliver their first child. The tiny girl lived only a short time nestled entirely in the arms of her bereft father. Rodolphus witnessed his little brother change irrevocably in those two hours. He felt confident that if little Elanor had survived, her proud papa wouldn't have descended into the state of near-madness he had.

And then Hermione's disappearance… How many times had he found his father clutching a bottle in one hand as he sat in front of the family tapestry staring at it with such an intensity he worried his father had finally gone round the bend? The tapestry was inconclusive. No one had ever seen that before. Regnault called in experts from all over the world to find out why there was a blurred mark where Hermione's date of death should be. It was completely unexplained. According to the wizards well-versed in the magic of family tapestries, Hermione was neither dead nor alive. How was anyone expected to move forward with their lives with that kind of revelation?

"What's wrong, son?" Regnault demanded, his concern and fear evident in his voice.

Rodolphus wasn't sure. He carefully sat up with his father's assistance. A burning in his left arm made him think for a brief moment that he was being summoned except for the fact that the pain was different and more intense than it ever had been before. He rolled up his sleeve and gasped. The Mark was gone. That could only mean one thing…

The sound of his wife's wails removed any hint of a smile from his face. She came rushing inside the study with big tears rolling down her cheeks. The Crouch boy, her latest in a long line of lovers Rodolphus pretended he didn't know about, entered the room just steps behind.

"They are saying he is dead," Bellatrix shrieked. "But it's impossible. How could our Lord die?"

He tried to ignore the rush of relief that filled him at the announcement. Was he finally to be free of this nightmare once and for all? Would he finally have a chance to get his life back? He'd already lost so much thanks to the Dark Lord: his cousin, his best friend Caradoc…

"Calm down, Bellatrix," Regnault ordered. "What madness you are speaking now?"

"It can't be true! They've done something to him. We must find him."

Hours later as he stood over the bruised and terrified form of Frank Longbottom, Rodolphus wished he'd heeded his father's pleas to stay home. Rodolphus couldn't explain why exactly, but he felt like he _needed_ to go. Torture always turned his stomach. He'd been able to perform the Cruciatus Curse under duress and direct order from the Dark Lord. Didn't mean he liked it. While he didn't agree with the drastic steps his wife had gone to try to figure out the whereabouts of their master, he was too much of a coward to try and stop her.

"This isn't working," complained Rabastan. He'd had no qualms about participating and had even mocked Rodolphus for his refusal. Every day that passed his little brother became more of a stranger. "Either he doesn't know anything or…"

"No, he knows something. He just needs the proper motivation to tell us."

A chill passed through Rodolphus' body at the sight of the smile on his bride's face. Nothing good usually came from that expression. She spun around in place to Disapparate into thin air. Every man present grew a bit more nervous with her gone. Longbottom's eyes widened and despite repeated courses of the Cruciatus Curse, he struggled at his magical bindings.

Bellatrix returned only short minutes later grasping a screaming woman by the hair. Rodolphus' stomach clenched when he realized she was also holding a small, crying child. The little tyke couldn't have been much older than a year. Why were they bringing innocent children into this? Wasn't the world already a horrid enough place?

"Alice!" Longbottom shouted. Tears rolled down his cheeks. When his wife turned in his direction enough that he could see their son clinging desperately to his mother's robes, an unearthly shriek of fear came out of the auror's mouth. "Neville!"

Rodolphus felt as if time stopped. He could hear his heartbeat and his palms were suddenly sweaty enough that he almost dropped his wand. _Remember the name Neville. He must be protected at all cost._ His cousin's words ran through his mind over and over again. How many times over the years had she made him promise not to forget the name Neville? He lost count. This was too much of a coincidence to ignore. He once teased his cousin of being a Seer. Maybe he was more right than he realized.

"Shut that child up!" screamed Bellatrix. She never could abide the sound of babies.

Rodolphus rushed forward to pluck the terrified child out of his mother's arms. Alice Longbottom fought as much as she could, but it was useless. He tried to convey with his eyes to the woman a promise that he wouldn't harm her child. The message was lost.

They were in some Muggle's empty home. Rodolphus wasn't sure where the owners were, only hoped they wouldn't return home any time soon. Leaving the parents behind in the lounge with the other Death Eaters, he moved quickly down the main corridor of the house to find a bedroom. Even if he was too young to understand what he was seeing, he didn't need to see it.

To shield Neville's ears, he cast a tricky little spell on the child that wouldn't allow him to hear anything more than a foot away. It allowed Rodolphus to hear the continued screams of agony and blood curling glee. He didn't know what to do next. Part of him wanted to Disapparate with the child to find some help for his poor, doomed parents. That would be the brave, heroic thing to do, but no one had ever accused him of being either.

Little Neville began to settle down in Rodolphus' arms. His tiny hiccups made the older wizard smile indulgently at the boy. Knowing that the gentle bounce of his arms as he paced was helping to calm the scared boy, he continued around the small room. He'd always wanted to be a dad. Not just because it was his sacred duty as Heir. He was full of love that he didn't have anyone to give.

Bellatrix wouldn't have wanted it even if he'd been able to muster some up for her. She sabotaged every opportunity for children, promising him that one day when the Dark Lord was fully in power they could finally start a family. Every day that passed made his dream of being just a simple family man less and less likely.

He felt a tiny head lay on his shoulder when Neville grew too weary to stay awake. Time felt like it was passing so slowly that Rodolphus was startled to realize he'd already been inside the Muggle's bedroom for over an hour. The screams were becoming less and less frequent. How much more could the poor couple take? His wife was relentless. She'd proven that many times in her application of the torture curse on him in both the privacy of their own bedroom and in front of their master for his enjoyment.

Trying to ignore the feeble shrieks, Rodolphus turned his attention to the sleeping wizard in his arms. How did Hermione know about Neville? Could she really See into the future? He felt his chest grow tight with thoughts of his cousin. Almost a year passed since he last saw her. Everyone told him to give up hope, but just like his father, he found that impossible to do. He wanted her in that room to answer all of his questions. Why did he not insist harder that she explain her cryptic requests?

When the house finally grew silent, Rodolphus' fear rose in exponential leaps. Clearly the two aurors were dead. Their son would be the next victim. He'd promised Hermione at least a dozen times that he would keep Neville protected. There was no way he was going to fail her. Not this time.

Crouch burst through the door of the bedroom. His eyes were wide, seeking out the boy hungrily. Rodolphus didn't hesitate to point his wand at the cretin.

"Bellatrix says we're to get rid of it before we go."

He had enough rage inside him that he had no doubt he could produce an effective Avada if he desired. How dare the horrid boy be excited about murdering a child? A spell was on his lips before he registered what was happening. Crouch slammed up against the wall and slid down to the floor unconscious.

Rodolphus knew he had to move quickly. If his wife discovered his subterfuge, his life would be forfeit. Though he didn't care that much about his own life, he had to stay alive long enough to save Neville. If he did nothing else of any value in his miserable existence, he was going to make certain the innocent boy lived.

He was almost grateful for his grandfather being such a tyrant. As a young child and even up until he died in his seventh year, Rodolphus sought out the safety of the library when Grandfather was in one of his moods. It did, however, give him the opportunity to learn a great deal about magic that a young, impressionable wizard shouldn't learn. Old spells that had gone out of fashion centuries before when witches and wizards were hunted by Muggles.

Rodolphus laid the sleeping boy on the middle of the bed. When Neville began to stir, he struck him with a very gentle sleeping spell. He was running out of time. His impatient wife would be there in moments demanding to know what was taking so long. Knowing that she would never get close enough to actually touch the child to confirm whether or not it was alive, Rodolphus cast a rather archaic spell to bind his magic. Often used in their violent history to keep children from having accidental bursts of magic in front of hostile Muggles, it would only be temporary. Eventually, it would wear off. He wasn't sure how long as he'd certainly never cast it before, but wasn't a live child with no magic better than a dead one?

Bellatrix would only wave her wand to search for the child's magical signature. If he appeared perfectly still because of the sleeping spell and there was no sign of magic emanating from him, the boy would be spared. At least he could only hope so.

Neville couldn't be left alone in an empty house with only his two dead parents for company. He could die just as easily. Rodolphus aimed his wand at the bedroom window and cast an incendio spell on one of the trees in the front garden. The Ministry couldn't ignore that for too long in a Muggle neighborhood. Obliviators would descend on the area and the boy and his parents would be found.

Altering Crouch's memory wasn't hard. Rodolphus had always been good at memory charms. Moments later, Crouch woke back up to blink his eyes.

"How'd I get down here?" he demanded.

"You fell when you tried to kill the baby. You're a disgrace, Crouch."

Rodolphus felt no guilt whatsoever kicking the teenaged wizard roughly in this side with his heavy boots. He rather hoped he broke a rib or two. As Crouch lay sputtering on the floor, Bellatrix burst in the room. Her crazed eyes fell on the still child on the bed. Just as he expected, all she did was search for his magical core. Satisfied, she cackled and ordered them to leave.

After one last glance at Neville, secure in the knowledge that he'd done all he could do just as Hermione asked, Rodolphus followed the others down the corridor. He expected death and blood. He did not expect the Longbottoms to still be alive. How could anyone survive hours of the Cruciatus? Based on the incoherent whimpers from the woman and the blank stare of the man, it was easy to tell that they were forever altered.

Before they could reach the door to the outside, the night air filled with the distinctive pops of Apparition. A test proved the Ministry had an anti-Disapparation ward surrounding them. They were trapped. Rabastan and Crouch were clearly worried. Bellatrix seemed amused. Rodolphus felt nothing but relief. Neville would be saved.

" _Imperio_!"

He wished he could say that he was able to fight off his wife's Imperius Curse. Throughout their marriage, she had been unafraid to force her will on her husband with the Unforgivable. Rodolphus was used to it. Sometimes, he was loath to admit, he even enjoyed the blissful feel of serenity that was a side-effect of the spell.

"You are to say _nothing_ ," Bellatrix ordered.

And he didn't. Not when they were apprehended. Not when they were dragged to the Ministry in chains. Not when the Umbridge woman checked everyone else's wand with _Prior Incantato_ but his. Not when she checked the other three for signs of the Imperius Curse, but skipped him. He said nothing in his trial. Nothing as he was thrown into Azkaban to rot.

He wouldn't actually speak again for years.


	9. The Lone Voice - Mafalda

The Lone Voice

Mafalda

No one would listen to her. No one believed her. Or at least, no one seemed to care whether or not they were sending an innocent man to die in Azkaban. All that mattered was someone was paying for the unconscionable act of the Longbottoms' torture. What did they care if another life was ruined by their incompetence?

Mafalda had known Rodolphus since the first day they climbed onto the Hogwarts' Express. He was shy and alone in a compartment trying and failing to hide that he was nervous. She didn't know anyone else on the train except for her older brother who told her he was a third year and couldn't been seen with a first year. What would his mates think of him? Though they were Sorted into different Houses, they remained friends. And every single year until they left Hogwarts, Mafalda and Rodolphus rode the train together to Hogwarts and back again to London.

No one in the entire world knew him better than she did. She'd seen him at his best and seen him at his worst. Neither of them meant to fall back in bed with each other. It just sort of _happened_. He was nursing a broken heart after the Black witch had her baby, proving once and for all that there would never be a future with her. Mafalda had just been brutally dumped and humiliated by that Yaxley arsehole from her department at work. Too much elf-made wine and a late-night owl was all it took to get him into her bed in her cheap flat.

It was never supposed to last as long as it did. She swore to herself that she would never have an affair with a married man. Even if it was arranged and he was clearly unhappy. They continued seeing each other as often as they could without being caught until his wedding day. Mafalda always hated to admit, even if only to herself, that only _hours_ before he bonded himself to that horrid woman, Rodolphus was seeking comfort in her arms.

The wedding was supposed to mark the end of their relationship. Only days after he returned from his honeymoon, Rodolphus was at her front door. It was wrong. She knew it. There was never a reason to excuse infidelity. Not even when she could see the pain in his eyes.

She would lie and tell everyone who knew she was in a relationship with a man they never seemed to be able to meet that it wasn't serious. They loved each other, but they weren't _in love_. It was a harmless fling. Nothing to write about. In truth, however, she'd been in love with Rodolphus Lestrange since the first time he pulled her behind a suit of armor in sixth year to kiss her breath away. Her heart had always belonged to him from that moment.

When he was dragged into the Ministry by the incensed aurors who arrived on the scene of his supposed crime, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. He stared blankly with no hint of emotion on his face. This was not her Roddy! How could the fools she worked with not see that he was under an enchantment? His three "partners" all showed varying degrees of emotion. One was frightened and crying for his mother. Another was trying unsuccessfully to hide his anxiety behind a veil of stoic indifference. That _woman_ was cackling and laughing with glee. Rodolphus was silent, impassive, nothing like the soft-spoken gentle man who was always so quick to smile. He was a shell of the man she knew

She wasn't _technically_ supposed to be in the interrogation room with the prisoners, but no one stopped her. There were other curious onlookers who had even less business being present. Dolores was on the same level as Mafalda. Their job duties were very similar. For a reason Mafalda certainly wasn't aware of, it was Dolores who had been assigned the task of checking all suspected Death Eaters for the Imperius Curse. She'd never cared for her coworker. The woman was tiresome and always interested in everyone's personal life to an uncomfortable degree.

Dolores took each of the four wands the aurors removed from the accused. A spell they were all familiar with was cast on the first. Everyone in the room felt sick to their stomachs when echoes of the spells it performed appeared. Crucio after Crucio after Crucio. Mafalada's gut swirled and churned with disgust. It took all of her self-control to keep her breakfast down. The second wand was almost identical to the first. When Dolores cast the same spell on the unyielding walnut wand, only two people didn't turn their heads in horror and disgust.

Mafalda refused to look away. She knew the fourth wand belonged to Rodolphus. There was simply no way her beloved Roddy could've committed these atrocious crimes. This spell cast on his wand would prove it and vindicate him. Dolores scribbled something on her parchment and set all of the wands down on a nearby table.

"I believe you missed one, Dolores," Mafalda stated.

"No, Mafalda, I didn't. I checked all four of them. Nasty curses, each of them."

Why was she lying? Mafalda witnessed it with her own eyes.

"Dolores, you missed the last one."

" _No_. I. Didn't. Clearly you were too distraught like everyone else to notice."

There was no arguing with the witch. Mafalda didn't understand why she was specifically ignoring Rodolphus. Before she could ask another question, Dolores moved to the four prisoners bound to their chairs. Quickly, she went through Crouch, Rodolphus' younger brother, and _that woman_ and determined there was no presence of the Imperius Curse found. As she stepped in front of Rodolphus' blank, expressionless face, Mafalda held her breath. Surely she couldn't ignore the clear signs of the Imperius Curse. But… she did.

"None of the accused are under the influence of the Imperius Curse," Dolores announced to the room.

Mafalda wanted to scream but the words would not come out. A swarm of aurors rushed the prisoners and grabbed them by their arms to drag them to the courtroom. Justice would be swift for those guilty of such a terrible crime. There would be no time to pause before the trial. She tried to catch Rodolphus' eye as he was dragged away, but there was no recognition. He didn't even seem to understand anything was happening around him.

Her feet felt frozen in place. The churning in her stomach hadn't stopped. If anything, it only increased as time went by. They were taking her wizard away. Would she ever see him again? The thought of never waking up again in the security of his strong arms made her so bereft that she couldn't even force a tear if she wanted to cry. The interrogation room emptied rapidly but still, she couldn't move.

"Don't _ever_ question me like that again, Mafalda," Dolores warned.

"Why did you do that?"

"My dear, I don't know what you're talking about."

Mafalda was able to sneak in the back of the courtroom. She didn't _want_ to watch. She _needed_ to watch. Rodolphus deserved to have one person on his side. One person who loved him and gave a damn about what happened to him.

The farce of a trial was swift. Mafalda couldn't bear to watch her Roddy dragged away. She ran out of the courtroom only moments after they were all found guilty. If she cried, everyone would want to know why. Being seen as a Death Eater sympathizer could mean the end of her career and possibly, the end of her freedom. Ignoring the sickness in her belly, she ran down the corridor.

Only steps from the lift she had to stop moving to heave the contents of her stomach out onto the slick marble floor. The distant sound of hurried footsteps behind her could hardly be heard over the pounding of her own heart in her ears. When nothing else would come up, Mafalda felt suddenly dizzy. Maybe it was unexpected exercise or the vomiting or just the sheer shock of what just happened. She could feel her body begin to lurch forward.

A strong hand caught her before she fell. Startled, Mafalda looked up to see the same light green eyes she loved filled with the tears of a heartbroken man. She had to blink a couple of time before she understood that she wasn't looking at her Roddy, but at his father. Regnault Lestrange, a proud man, was reduced to public tears over the sudden loss of his entire family. She couldn't blame the man.

"Are you all right, miss?" he asked in a scratchy, hoarse voice so unlike his usual strong tenor.

"No," she answered honestly. "I don't think I will ever be all right again."

Mafalda thanked him for his assistance and entered the lift alone. She needed to find somewhere private to break down. Regnault did not attempt to stop her in her desire to flee. No doubt he understood perfectly.

The sickness she felt in her gut did not dissipate as the days went on. It seemed that after the trial there was always something else to be disgusted by. Determined that she would not allow Rodolphus to waste away in the prison when the investigation was not conducted properly, Mafalda made a plan. Approaching the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement would have been the normal place to start, but with the scandal of his own son being a Death Eater and complaints that he had mishandled much of his department during the war, Bartemius Crouch Senior was no longer in charge. His replacement, Amelia Bones, had politely informed her that she needed to file an addendum to the official Improper Use of Magic Office's report. Paperwork, apparently, was more important than truth and justice.

When Mafalda heard nothing back about the addendum she filed, she went straight to the very top. Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold was supposed to be a reasonable woman. No matter how she begged and pleaded with the Minister to reopen the investigation into Rodolphus' involvement, the woman would not be moved. Mafalda was repeatedly sent away from her office in the week following the trial even more frustrated than she was the day before.

"If I were you, Mafalda, I'd drop all further inquiries," Dolores stated one morning over a week after the trial. "Nothing is going to change. Mr. Lestrange is going to remain in Azkaban, but if you continue to press this, you will soon find your life a lot less bearable."

Dolores Umbridge was perhaps one of the least subtle Slytherins in existence. She was an example of how not every trait that each House is known for will necessarily apply to each of its members. Mafalda didn't know what else to do. If the Head of the DMLE wouldn't listen to her and the Minister for Magic wouldn't either, what could she possibly do? It was enough to drive a woman mad.

"Too much insistence in retrying Mr. Lestrange will only make you seem suspicious, Mafalda dear. What _exactly_ is your relationship with him?"

The toad-faced woman looked at her with such an expression of glee and intrigue that Mafalda resolutely kept her mouth shut. Their relationship was _none_ of that horrid bitch's business.

"Keep claiming that I didn't do my job correctly and I will make certain that everyone knows about your affair with a married Death Eater, Mafalda. Now, won't that be a splendid scandal? I'd daresay you'd be chucked out of the Ministry on your arse."

Anger bubbled up in Mafalda just as her body began to reject the light breakfast she'd forced herself to consume before she left home. Dolores watched her throw up in the rubbish bin under her desk with a triumphant grin.

"I think I'd go to St. Mungo's and have a Healer examine you. Seems to me that Mr. Lestrange left something behind before he was carted off to Azkaban."

Mafalda couldn't leave the office quickly enough. High-pitched, amused titters rang in her ear long after she was away from the horrid cow. There had been other signs beyond the almost constant nausea, but she simply explained them away as being stress-induced. She had to know the truth.

An hour later, she exited the exam room in a daze. She should've been excited. Being a mother was something she had always dreamed of being, but had not expected to happen. The wizard she was in love with was married to another woman. In no reality was that a good scenario. Knowing that she carried a part of her Roddy inside her both exhilarated her and terrified her. What was she going to do next?

"Miss Hopkirk?"

Standing only feet from the room where she received the news that would forever alter her life, was Regnault Lestrange. Something in the manner in which he appeared made her believe that his presence was not an accident.

"I suspected something like this when I saw you the other day," he admitted in a whisper. There was no need to ask exactly what he meant. She was standing in the maternity section of the hospital, for fuck's sake. "It was presumptuous of me and entirely inappropriate, but I bribed a staff member to tell me if you came in for an exam."

"You're not wrong. That _is_ presumptuous and inappropriate. Quite possibly illegal too."

"Miss Hopkirk, it was never my intention to upset you. I just…"

She could tell that it was taking all of his strength to utter the words he wanted to say. Even in just a short time since the farce of a trial, he was altered. He seemed broken and lost. Mafalda felt a softening in her heart for the once formidable man. She reached out to squeeze his elbow in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. Tears rolled out of his beautiful green eyes.

"I just needed to know if you were carrying my grandchild."

There was no one nearby to hear them, but she still couldn't speak the truth aloud. Mafalda nodded her head.

"You will want for nothing. Your child will want for nothing. I will take care of you both."


	10. A Stolen Life - Silas

A Stolen Life

Silas

Excitement was high all over the Lestrange Estate as the guests arrived to share in the happiness of the newly married couple. Silas might have been a little biased, but he was of the opinion that there had never been a more beautiful bride than his baby sister Sollie. Her love and admiration for her husband warmed even the coldest parts of the cynic's heart. Though he might not approve entirely of their marriage, he was pleased that they were happy. He only hoped that as time passed, they would be able to hold on to that joy. Difficult times were coming. He knew that more than anyone.

His mind wandered throughout the ceremony and the lavish reception following. This was supposed to be the best day of his sister's life. He feared that his poor mood would cast a shadow. To prevent hurting the bride on her special day, Silas stayed as much on the edge of events as possible. He watched the dancers twirl around the floor with their smiles and infectious laughter, and he couldn't help but hate them just a little. What right did they have to experience such a carefree existence? It had been a long time since he had that freedom.

"Are you not happy for them?"

Sybille's solemn tone broke through his increasingly depressing reverie. Clearly, he hadn't been able to hide his frustration and serious mood from everyone present. With a bright smile on his face that wasn't fooling her, he wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulder and pulled her against him.

"Of course I'm happy for them. How could anyone not be?"

"But you're scowling. Are you jealous?"

She had always had a way with words that cut straight to the issue at hand. For someone who spent most of her life hidden away in her books, Sybille didn't dance around with flowery descriptions or unnecessary words. Time was too important to her to waste.

"I'm very happy for them. It's clear that they love each other."

"But you're still jealous."

"Merlin, Sybbie! You are relentless."

He tempered his exclamation with a laugh and a wink. The last thing he wanted was for his sister to think he was upset with her. Not on that night of all nights. Time was too precious a commodity to waste. Spending the few moments they had left together arguing would have been more than his heavy heart could bear. Was it not bad enough that he was going to have to break his other sister's heart during what should have been the happiest time of her entire life? He hoped that she would be able to forgive him someday. Somehow, he would make it up to her.

"Is it the Dumbledore witch?"

"You don't care much for her, do you?"

"I think that my brother deserves better than someone with her reputation. I don't think she would make you happy."

Silas knew better than to argue with his sister when she was passionate about a subject. Her feelings about Hermione had been made perfectly clear on numerous occasions in the past. She was polite enough to the woman on the surface, but he knew that Sybille would never warm up to her no matter what happened. His sister didn't have to worry. He had already made the same conclusion. Hermione was a friend he valued, not a woman he desired.

"I just saw her disappear into the gardens. Tried not to make it obvious that she was chasing after Kingsley Shacklebolt. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell what she was doing. I think it's disgusting running after a man like a cheap slag."

"Ach, you're too hard on her, Sybbie. Weddings put most people into a romantic mood. Who are we to judge a couple that wants to be alone in the moonlight?"

"You wouldn't catch _me_ throwing myself at a wizard during a public event."

He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from making the observation that no one would likely ever catch her throwing herself at a wizard full stop. With the exception of the ill-fated marriage contract with Antonin Dolohov, his sister had never shown any interest at all in any wizard. There was a time he assumed that she was one of those witches that loved other witches until he realized she didn't show any interest in them either. Sybille enjoyed being alone with her books and her thoughts. Perhaps Dolohov was the only one who crossed her path that was at least as quiet as she was. Maybe she thought he would allow her to keep living her life exactly the way she had been. It was a topic that was supremely personal, and if he hadn't done it already, Sollie's wedding reception certainly wasn't the place to bring it up for the first time.

"Care for a dance, little sister?"

Several dances later, Silas felt a little more like his old self. He had purposefully been avoiding the fire whiskey no matter how much he desired to just drown his sorrows and fears in it. Sybille abandoned him after a couple of dances, so he sought out his mother and the bride for a few more. Just as his mother kissed his cheek and begged him to let her sit down for a few minutes before they danced again, he caught Hermione's reemergence into the tent.

A chuckle came slipping out of his mouth. It might have been longer than he cared to remember since he'd last experienced it first-hand, but he could recognize a couple that had just made free use of private time. Shacklebolt walked taller and prouder than normal. Hermione had an attractive flush in her cheeks that was a signal to all of the world if they bothered to look. When the young auror leaned down to kiss her firmly and publicly on the mouth, he heard a strangled growl several feet behind him.

Antonin Dolohov did not care for the public display if his red face and rushed movements were any indication. Fearing that there would be a scene that would mar his baby sister's wedding, Silas used his closer proximity to his advantage. He managed to reach Hermione to pull her out onto the dance floor before Dolohov could make a fool of himself.

He spent the entire dance wishing he could tell her the truth. The plan had been in place for days. There were many opportunities for it to go terribly wrong. But even if it went perfectly, she would blame herself. Would she believe herself responsible for his murder for months? _Years_? Fearing that he wouldn't be able to contain himself, he was thankful when the song ended. With a glad heart, he presented the witch to Kingsley. Their feelings for each other were written all over their faces. It helped to know that she would not be alone.

It might have been impolite to think so, but Silas found the sour scowl on Dolohov's face amusing. A few times during their dance, he'd been able to see the younger wizard staring at them, watching them move around the floor. There were still plenty of opportunities for him to cause a scene. Both Sollie and Hermione deserved better than that. He resolved to do what he could to prevent it.

"Rumor has it that Regnault has some of his best fire whiskey hidden behind the bar, Dolohov. Care to search for it with me? I'll share."

The rest of the reception flew by to Silas' sadness. Part of him hoped that it would never end. He knew what was expected of him when all of the guests left and it frightened him. So much could go wrong. It might all be for nothing.

When the last of the guests began departing, Silas could no longer put off the inevitable. After kissing his mum's cheek and hugging her for an almost uncomfortable amount of time, he crossed the gardens to where Thomas Shacklebolt stood in deep conversation with Dolohov. Antonin's date had long since abandoned him for a more lighthearted and enjoyable companion. No one who knew him could blame her at all.

"You two aren't about to go home, are you?"

They both looked up at the sound of his voice. Thomas' reaction was kind. Antonin couldn't seem to understand what he was doing there. All night Silas had dogged his steps to keep him away from Hermione. He was an intelligent enough being to understand his goal. Though he hadn't worked very hard at trying to ditch Silas, he had suffered his presence with a measurable degree of annoyance.

"It's late, Selwyn. Where else would we go?"

"Your date ran off, Tony. It's not like you have any reason to rush home. What did you have in mind?"

Silas appreciated Thomas' input. Without his help, this entire plan would have been dead in the water. Or, rather, there would be no plan at all. He had no delusions about who was the driving force.

"Warlock I know has a card game in Knockturn Alley. Interested?"

"I'm always up for a game."

"Do you really think that's a good idea, Tommy?"

There was a silent conversation between the two friends after Silas made the offer. He didn't really understand the significance and honestly, didn't care. All he knew was that Thomas was insistent that he suggest gambling in Knockturn Alley.

"Huh. Didn't know you were my mum, Tony."

"I thought after you…"

Thomas held up a hand to cut off his best friend before he said too much. There was no card game. No need for anyone to worry. Even if there was a game going on somewhere in the bowels of the dodgiest part of London, they would never get there.

" _I'm_ going whether you like it or not. If you would like to join us, you are free and welcome to."

Only minutes later the three men entered Knockturn Alley. Whatever Dolohov's concerns were about Thomas and gambling were evident by his determination to not leave his friend alone. Silas found his loyalty to be a surprisingly positive trait. He hadn't been aware the man possessed any.

With a false confidence, Silas led the two men down a dark lane in the alley between two buildings. It was a place he would never be caught in, even in the daytime. Sal was the one who liked the Darker aspects of magic. Silas, on the other hand, would have been perfectly happy to live entirely on the side of Light doing nothing in the slightest that could be considered Dark magic. Especially if they were successful tonight. He took a silver flask out of his pocket to still his nerves. When he caught Dolohov watching his movements, he pushed it in his hands before he took a sip.

"You look like you could use another drink."

Antonin rolled his eyes even as he drank what was offered. The moment the liquid drained out of the flask and he swallowed a mouthful, Thomas met Silas' eyes over his friend's head. A subtle nod from Shacklebolt was the signal.

"Must have been hard to see Hermione dancing all night with Kingsley."

It had been Thomas' suggestion that Silas fill his flash with a rage-inducing potion. He hadn't liked the idea personally, but Thomas insisted. They had to make it all look real, make it _feel_ real for Dolohov. If he thought for a second that he wasn't responsible, their plan might fail.

"Poor thing came in from the gardens with an actual twig in her hair. Can you imagine? Must have gotten it stuck in there while she was on her back."

Dolohov stopped walking. He stared at Silas with a look of pure hatred that was frightening. It made him uncomfortable to keep going because he had grown to admire and care for Hermione so much, but he knew she was the one subject that coupled with the rage potion would get the results they desired.

"Goldie does like it in the gardens. Something about the rush of the possibility of getting caught. I lost count the number of times she's dragged me out there."

"Silence your tongue, Selwyn."

"Oh, come on, mate. We're just having a friendly conversation about a witch I'm sure all three of us have _enjoyed_. You and Shacklebolt here ever share her at the same time?"

Even though he had been expecting the first punch to his face, that didn't mean that the shock of the pain was any less. He hadn't been hit in the face since he and Sal were teenagers. Fights between brothers often got violent. His self-preservation instincts told him to shut up and run. Dolohov was not an enemy he wanted to have. The bloke was unhinged, dangerous. Instead, he spit out the blood in his mouth and laughed.

"Struck a nerve there, did I? My apologies." He gave a sarcastic bow. "Goldie's more than just a tight, wet cunt. She's also a hot, little arse."

The second and the third and the fourth blows to his face almost made him lose all resolve. Bile rose in his throat. Not only was he disgusted by his words, he began to genuinely fear for his life. Maybe this had been a terrible idea. Just as Dolohov moved to strike him a fifth time, the dark night lit up with the red flash of Thomas' stunner. Silas slid to the ground in relief at the same speed as the unconscious body.

"Are you sure all of this is necessary, mate?"

They had gone over the plan in minute detail many times over the previous week. Just as Silas had given up on the idea that he would make it out of the war alive, a late night visit to his flat from Thomas put his fears at ease. He hardly knew the man beyond polite nods and handshakes at society parties. Hermione loved him and for that reason only, he chose to trust him when he laid out a plan to save his life.

"You Know Who doesn't take rejection lightly. Unless you decide to follow him, he's going to kill you. That's a fact. Even just running away won't make you safe. He'd find you."

"But surely there's a better way than making your best mate think that he's killed me."

"No, I've given this a lot of thought. He needs to believe he had something to do with your murder, and Hermione needs to find out."

"Still don't understand that part."

Thomas stepped over his friend's unconscious form to get close enough to Silas to begin casting healing spells. The pain that was blinding was gone almost immediately. Magic truly was wonderful. He never understood how Muggles survived without it. Some of the blows to his face were pretty hard. There was a very real possibility that he'd never look the same again. But, he supposed that probably wasn't a bad thing.

"I'm a selfish bastard, Silas. I want Hermione to marry my brother. Antonin is like family too, but he's… did you know he almost broke her wrist when they were dating?"

He felt a surge of anger build up inside him. No, he definitely did _not_ know that there had been any physical violence in their relationship. He would never approve of a man raising his hand to a woman for any reason.

"As long as she has reason to believe that Antonin killed you, she won't want anything to do with him. I don't want her to change her mind when Kingsie inevitably does something stupid and go running off to Antonin. I love him, but she deserves better than him."

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching. Silas held his wand out, prepared for the worst. One couldn't be too careful in that part of that city. When he saw the Headmaster emerge from the shadows dressed in an uncharacteristically drab shade of grey, he relaxed. Part of him hadn't expected the old man to lift a finger to help him.

"He's been stunned?"

"Yes, Professor. Did you bring one?"

Albus Dumbledore nodded, but there was no joy in his expression. He made no secret of the fact that he didn't want to be there.

"Are you certain we should follow through with this plan, Mr. Shacklebolt? It is a bit _extreme_ after all. Surely there's a better way. Smuggle Mr. Selwyn out of the country, perhaps? I have a dear friend in Andorra who might be able to give him a place to stay and work."

Most mere mortals were intimidated by the Headmaster. Not Thomas. He walked up to one of the most powerful wizards that lived, poked him in the chest, and let him know in no uncertain terms that they _were_ going through with the plan they'd already made and he would not be deterred. Knowing that he was up against an adversary that wouldn't budge, Dumbledore nodded again. A single wave of his wand brought a stiff body floating through the air. Silas should have been horrified, but all he felt was relief. The plan was working.

"Was it hard to find one?" asked Thomas. He had his attention and wand focused on cursing Dolohov's hands to make the injuries he'd already incurred punching Silas in the face even worse. Blood dripped down onto the pavement. "Where did you get him?"

"I'm sorry to say that finding a homeless Muggle on the cusp of death isn't difficult in this city. He passed soon after I found him. The body should still be quite fresh."

Silas removed every article of clothing he was wearing. It was a task that allowed him the freedom to _not_ watch the Headmaster mutilate the body of the nameless Muggle to appear as if he had had his face punched in by a drunk and rabid Death Eater. He passed the finery he'd worn for his sister's wedding to Thomas when he finished modifying Dolohov's memory slightly. False memories of him beating Silas to death were deftly slipped into his brain while he lay there on the pavement. It was best that all memories of Thomas leaving the reception and walking to Knockturn Alley with them be removed as well. Spells undressed the Muggle and replaced his clothing with Silas' discarded threads while he redressed himself. It had been a wrench to his heart to have to slip his ring with his family's crest on the stiff finger of the dead Muggle. Snapping his wand and throwing it in a nearby gutter was easier.

"I think that'll take care of the body," Dumbledore declared. "Perhaps it is best if we adjourn to a less public place for the next phase."

No one argued. They moved into the shadows, ready to rush towards the exit and out of the anti-Apparition wards. From a distance, hidden in the dark, Thomas rennervated his friend. Dolohov slowly came to moments later. He stared down in horror at his blood-covered hands and then gasped when he saw the body lying on the ground next to him. The three wizards waited for him to run away in panic before leaving the shadows.

The Headmaster took Silas' arm to Side-Along him to a simple room in what appeared to be a rundown boarding house. Or maybe one of those things that Muggles called a motel. He wasn't positive of the terminology.

"What's next?"

Thomas was eager to continue on with their next steps, but Silas needed a moment. He dropped all of his weight down on the rickety bed and hid his face in his hands. His entire life, as he knew it, was over. Maybe forever. There might never be a chance for him to resume living as Silas Selwyn. Or see his family again. Was that all worth the price of his life?

"I've brought a De-Aging potion with me, Mr. Selwyn. Just a small dose. It will only make you about ten years younger. If anyone is looking for you, they won't be expecting you to be younger."

He accepted the vial from the Headmaster and drank it down quickly before he could talk himself out of it. The sensations running through his body were strange. It felt as if every single cell was shifting and changing. He didn't care for it at all and was very thankful when it ceased.

"Your raven hair is a bit noticeable too. Best to change it a bit too. I'll write down the incantation and wand movements for you. It will need to be recast every few weeks as new hair grows in or your dark roots will show."

The hair-changing spell wasn't as invasive as the De-Aging potion, but Silas didn't care for it either. He had always been rather proud of his dark hair. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the pitiful excuse for a sink was a disconcerting experience. Younger with straw-colored hair and a broken nose only half-healed, he hardly recognized himself. He knew more alterations to his appearance would be necessary and he wasn't looking forward to what those would entail.

"I'd also suggest a skin lightening potion. Those are fairly easy to brew. Are you adept at potions, son? I can't remember."

"Yes, I am."

"Excellent. Just a shade or two lighter to complement your new hair color. I'll leave it up to you if you want to complete any other modifications."

Thomas stepped forward to place a key in Silas' trembling hand. He took it, unsure where it went to or what it was for.

"This room is paid for for the next week. Stay here until next Saturday. No one will look for you here. I made a list of rooms available to rent and even have a few leads on a job. Wasn't sure if you would be able to save enough money otherwise."

"No, I'll definitely need a job."

"None of them are very prestigious, I'm afraid. Not like what you had at the Ministry."

"It's all right, Thomas. Thank you so much for your help. And you as well, Headmaster."

Silas wanted them to leave him in peace. There was a lot that he needed to process. Backstories he needed to create. Lies he needed to perfect. Nightmares he needed to have. Almost as if they could read his mind, both wizards moved closer to the door.

"You will need a new name. Have you thought of one?"

Dumbledore had to repeat his question twice before Silas heard him. It had been a silly question. He'd chosen his name almost the moment after Thomas came to him with his idea for how he could save his life. The last name came from the second part of the name of the Head of the Headless Hunt and the first was close enough to his real name that he didn't think it would be too hard to remember to answer to it when called.

"Sturgis Podmore."


	11. Christmas Shopping - Salazar

Christmas Shopping

Salazar

A persistent itch just under Salazar Selwyn's eye was threatening to send him round the bend. He tried to ignore it, tried to use all of his self-control to keep from reaching for it again, but he failed. Over and over again he scratched his gloved hand against the scar to find no relief. There was a very real possibility that there was nothing to be done about it. Maybe he would have to deal with the annoyance for the rest of his life. It was a sobering thought that made his lip curl up in frustration and disgust. Every time his mind wandered to the moment he acquired such a disfigurement, he grew angry.

His sister hadn't even been dead for an entire day when his path crossed the werewolf's. After hours had been spent at the Lestrange Manor watching his family members fall apart in the presence of Sollie's cooling body and dying baby, he'd needed something to take his mind off of the tragedy that had befallen his family. Two glasses of fire whiskey in at The White Wyvern in Knockturn Alley, he'd felt the back of his chair move. Frustrated and absolutely not in the mood to deal with any drunk ruffians, he spun around with his wand held firmly in his hand, ready to curse anything that moved.

The werewolf Greyback had been a surprise he didn't expect. Most taverns in the area refused to serve his kind. There was always some archaic fear amongst the simpletons that a werewolf simply _existing_ in the same room even in its human form could somehow spread their curse. Even if Salazar knew better than those cretins, that didn't mean he was ready to offer up a pint to the monster. He still had his standards after all. If the Dark Lord refused to have his kind inside his Inner Circle, he wasn't about to be overly accommodating.

As the beast stared down from his great height with a grin that both frightened and angered him, Salazar wasn't sure what to expect next. Any physical altercation with Greyback would be for naught. He might have been in excellent physical shape, but he was no match against a violent, dangerous werewolf. If he was swift enough, he might be able to curse him enough to get away. Chances were slim, however. Greyback had a nasty reputation for a very good reason.

"What do you want, Greyback?"

The grin fell off his lips instantly to be replaced with a scowl that forced Salazar's stomach to churn violently. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of the beast. He kept his wand arm up, hoping that he could summon up the courage and strength to cast a spell, if necessary. Undeterred and certainly not intimidated by the threat, Greyback stepped closer so they were only inches apart. He leaned down, his foul breath hot on Salazar's paling face.

"You've a habit of attacking witches smaller than you, Selwyn. Thought you might want to give me a go instead."

Salazar's eyes narrowed at the statement. What the devil could the fiend be referring to? 'Attacking witches'? When on Earth did he… It all became clear. The only witch he truly enjoyed putting his hands on was the Dumbledore bitch. Something about her made his skin crawl. No one would ever convince him in a million years that she wasn't responsible in some manner for his brother Silas' murder. There were rumors. She'd given the Dark Lord assurances that Silas would join his followers. That Dolohov monster had been seen with him and then had suspiciously bandaged hands. The wizard was obsessed with Dumbledore. If he saw Silas as competition, there was nothing he wouldn't be willing to do.

And, it was no secret to him that there was something between Greyback and the bitch. He wasn't interested in the details. Far from it. The very thought of imagining that horrible woman doing _anything_ with _anyone_ made him want to gag and empty the contents of his stomach. Perhaps she was beautiful. He couldn't tell. His hatred of her was too strong to allow him to look at her objectively.

"I'm afraid I don't have the foggiest idea what you are referring to, Greyback. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd prefer you bugger off."

He was impressed with his ability to get the words out of his mouth without squeaking or doing something equally embarrassing. Before he was able to turn back around in his chair to further his point that he had no desire to converse, Greyback's hand was around his throat. Concerned gasps and mutters all around the tavern sounded at once. Every single eye was on the werewolf and his prey. Salazar worried that he was about to humiliate himself yet again in public. One was not always the master of their bodily functions in moments of extreme fear.

"The little girl is _mine_."

Salazar was ashamed of how he screamed when the werewolf dug one of his filthy claws into the skin underneath his eye. It was an unearthly screech, hardly one he would expect to come out of his own body. All he remembered feeling was a sharp pain and even more fear. Greyback's noise wrinkled in disgust when he caught scent of the wetness in his victim's trousers. How much further would he go to prove his point?

"Touch a single hair on that witch's head and you'll come to regret it, Selwyn."

A shiver of disgust and terror ran through Salazar's entire body even almost two years after that horrible night. Every single time he looked in the mirror he saw evidence of Greyback's warning. He'd made good on the promise Greyback forced him to make seconds later. As much as he longed to slam that bitch's head against a stone wall until her brains bled out the back, he'd kept his distance.

Unable to stop himself, he scratched at the itchy scar again. Annaliese tried to tell him over and over again that the scar was far from a blight on his handsome face. Many times she'd assured her husband that it added a depth of mystery to him, made him seem even a little dangerous. If Salazar had been interested in the thoughts of witches, he might have been flattered. Though quite fond of his young wife in a manner most would find _unconventional_ , she really could be a silly girl with foolish notions at times.

He had never wanted to get married. From a young age, he knew his attractions lay with his own sex. Wizards from the best families were expected to put aside their true desires for the procurement of an heir. Once their line was secure, what they did behind closed doors was their own business. Salazar had always been prepared to defer that laborious duty to his elder brother Silas. Fatherhood held no allure. But, thanks to Dumbledore, he was forced to take a wife against his will.

Little Salazar was the greatest gift he'd ever been given. It might have taken him some time to warm up to the child that was almost his mirror image, but once he did, he never looked back. He knew what the rumors were. About his wife and his father. They hadn't exactly been covert in their affair once Sal was born. He couldn't begrudge them the happiness they found in each other. Especially since he wasn't prepared to give Annaliese the warmth and affection everyone deserved.

But, he absolutely resented the whispers that Little Sal was not his child. There was no doubt in the mind of any member of the Selwyn family who fathered their youngest member. Salazar had been there through the conception. Though it had taken much longer than they hoped, he did not shirk the duty that was thrust upon him no matter how trying it was at times. A simple paternity spell would prove his efforts if anyone bothered to cast one. He had even been able to sense his son before Annaliese was even aware she was pregnant. Little Sal was _his_ and he would curse anyone who dared say otherwise in his presence.

It was actually on his son's behalf that he was even in Diagon Alley to begin with. He had been under the impression that his wife had completed all of the Christmas shopping on his behalf. She was better at picking out trinkets that his family members would appreciate. If it was up to him, he would most likely forget to get anything at all. Annaliese had resolutely refused to buy all of Sal's presents. She had a ridiculous notion that he might actually _enjoy_ picking some out for his son.

"He won't be small for much longer. Enjoy it while you can, Sally."

 _Ugh_. He hated when she had a valid point _and_ when she referred to him by his horrible childhood nickname. So, the Friday before Christmas he braved the cold weather to wander up and down the shopping district to figure out what kind of gift would be suitable for an almost two and a half year old boy. What did they like? It had been thirty years since he was his son's age. Did Annaliese expect him to _remember_ what he liked as a child?

Broomsticks were out of the question. He worried too much as it was when his son climbed on top of small furniture. Watching him go up the stairs in his parents' home gave him intense anxiety. His sister and her baby _died_ just by walking down the stairs on an ordinary day. He wanted to keep his son as safe as possible. Already the child was showing an interest in the books his sister Sybille gave him. Salazar was going to encourage any hobby that kept both of his son's feet firmly on the ground.

He remembered one of the best presents he ever received as a young boy. After his younger sister Sybille was born, his uncle gave him a tiny kitten. It was supposed to make him feel like he had his own responsibilities, but he knew even at a young age that he was being kind enough to try to keep his nephew from feeling ignored and left out. New babies were a lot of work and he wasn't used to not being the center of attention.

Sal was likely too young for a kitten, but he liked the idea. Kneazles could live to be in their twenties or thirties if properly cared for. There would be plenty of time for his son to enjoy the animal when he was older. The animals were highly intelligent and usually quite gentle. If Sal wasn't up to the task of caring for his kitten yet, he'd make sure that he and his wife picked up the slack. Little boys should have a pet and Salazar had never cared much for dogs. With his mind made up, he directed his steps towards the Magical Menagerie.

It had been months since he was in the shop to ask that horrid woman to call her werewolf off. He was mortified that he had been forced to stoop so low to ask for her assistance, but he truly didn't know what else to do. His family was being terrorized by the monster. If his wife and his son were not safe, he would be willing to do just about anything to remedy that situation. So far, it seemed to be a success. Greyback certainly hadn't come anywhere near their home since. Everyone in the Selwyn family was settling down, no longer afraid to be in their own home. It irked him to no end that he had _her_ to thank for that.

Not far from the pet shop, Salazar stopped when he saw Dumbledore come out onto the pavement. If a confrontation with the harridan could be avoided, he would be pleased. Her attention was caught by something in his direction. Looking straight at him, she narrowed her eyes and scowled. Salazar prepared himself for a snarky word from the bitch until he heard the hoarse laughter only steps away.

She hadn't been staring at him. Likely she didn't even know he was nearby. Her focus had been entirely on the werewolf that made it his life's mission to stalk and harass his chosen victims. The sound of his mirth covered Salazar's entire body in goosebumps. He wanted to push past the monster without being seen.

"I know you're there, Selwyn."

He sighed. Of course the animal would be able to sense his presence without even glancing in his direction. Truthfully, it was creepy how he could use his nose to familiarize himself with his surroundings. The moment Dumbledore disappeared from view, Greyback spun around to glare at his enemy. Salazar tried to remain calm, tried to keep the fear he was experiencing from being evident.

"Leave me be, Greyback. I want no quarrel with you. I'm only here to shop for presents."

"Something for your tender, little morsel?"

A rage Salazar hadn't felt before welled up inside of him. Did the creature actually _dare_ to refer to his child in that manner? All fear was gone in an instant. He would fight the creature to the death with his bare hands if that's what he had to do to keep Little Sal safe.

"You leave my son alone!"

Greyback's response was only to laugh his wretched laughter even louder. Minuscule amounts of terror began to return to Salazar's body. He was losing his nerve.

"Still sniffing after the Dumbledore bitch? You realize she'll never be interested in you, right?"

His laughter morphed into the low, fierce growl that once made the other wizard soil himself in public. He appeared ready to make good on all of his threats from before. With each single step the werewolf made in his direction, Salazar could feel that same terror from the night his sister died. That was no way to live. Must he always be forced to endure the attention of the crazed beast simply because he loathed and detested the woman he'd seen fit to claim as his own? He had to figure out a way to get rid of him once and for all.

An idea came to him when Greyback was only inches away. Salazar attempted to smile to prove that he wasn't scared, but he knew the gesture fell flat. The werewolf appeared ready to rip his spine out through his throat. He would have to act fast.

"If I can promise you a way to finally get the little cunt, would you give me your word on whatever passed for honor with you creatures, that you will leave my family and _me_ alone?"

Greyback's scowl morphing into an even more terrifying smile was just the answer he was hoping for.


	12. The Minister's Brother's Secret

_Author's Note: After this additional scene, I will only be writing one more for The Minister's Secret. There are lots of scenes that could be written and over the course of the time that I've written this story you all have been so wonderful to suggest more that you'd like to see. This is one of those collections that could go on forever if I let it, but I'm honestly very ready to move on from this universe. The Minister's Secret has been an interesting journey, but I'm ready to move on to other projects. The next alternate scene will likely be posted some time after Chapter Ninety-Three is posted. Thanks for sticking this out with me for so long._

* * *

The Minister's Brother's Secret

Thomas

Surely there was something wrong with him that he didn't want to make the visit he knew he had to make. At least, that's what Thomas kept telling himself from the moment he was released from St. Mungo's. Since arriving unexpectedly in the future, he had only spent a short time with his shocked family in Hogsmeade before he was rushed to the Healers at the wizarding hospital. Hermione would not stop insisting that he make the trip. Even though she resolutely refused to go herself, she wanted him looked over. Between the hideous scratching on his face and the potentially fatal internal injuries he was certain hadn't been fully healed, he couldn't present a good enough argument to keep from going.

He couldn't blame her for not wanting to go with him. Thanks to the still-quite-obnoxious reporting style of one Rita Skeeter, there wasn't a single person who resided within the borders of Great Britain and half of Europe who didn't know about Hermione's trip to the past. Most were still under the belief that Antonin was responsible. Every day her loved ones waited for any hint of her return. No one knew it was even possible. With so much public scrutiny, he certainly didn't begrudge her the desire for one night away from the insanity that was sure to come when it was widely known that she'd returned. She'd begged for a single night in the comfort of her own bed in her own home with her wizard.

No one was as interested in his own return to the land of the living. In fact, his father had had the foresight to have him admitted to the hospital under an assumed name. Claimed he was a distant relative. The Shacklebolt name had always been one that commanded a great deal of respect and a tiny bit of awe from those who met them. He was immediately seen by one of the most talented Healers and given a private room. Every Healer who saw him was under the impression that he would make a full and complete recovery, but they all reminded him to take it easy for the foreseeable future. His body was still weak. Any amount of stress could cause irreparable harm.

Thomas refused to remain in the hospital any longer than was absolutely necessary. Once he choked down vials of foul, potent potions and agreed to a single night of a restorative enchanted sleep, he signed himself out of the hospital. None of the Healers were in favor of his leaving so soon after arriving. He couldn't find enough in him to care. There was something he had to do before the story of his resurrection from the dead became public knowledge. As soon as it was known that Hermione was back, his story would come tumbling out. He couldn't afford to stay cooped up in the hospital when he had an important task looming over his head.

Even if he didn't take into account the fact that he'd just traveled eighteen years into the future, it had been a long time since he made a trip to the location he was headed. With a deep sigh, he squared his shoulders and Disapparated away from the hospital before any of his loved ones could stop him. When he landed in a familiar field hardly touched by the time away, the dread of his task grew even larger until he was certain he would choke on his anger. How had he gotten to this point? Surely there had been signs all along that he'd missed. This shouldn't have been a surprise.

As he walked across the empty field towards the cloaked farmhouse, his face began to itch. There had been nothing any of the Healers could do about the scratches. Beyond stopping the bleeding and healing the actual cuts, no one could erase the reminder of what the bastard Greyback did with his claws. Thomas would carry the scar for the rest of his life. It had hurt his pride to see the red, puckered flesh on his cheek. He'd always been proud of his looks. Would anyone ever be able to look at him again without shying away in disgust or terror?

The early morning sun was just beginning its climb into the sky when he passed through the wards. He felt the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile. Some things never changed. Magic had its own signature, its own flavor. A hundred years could pass and he would still be able to pick out Antonin's enchantments when he came across one.

In an effort to steady his nerves as each step brought him closer to the meeting he never wanted to have, he surveyed the area. The house was sadly neglected, but an effort had been made to repair it. He had been surprised to hear of Antonin's generosity towards his son. Gifts from his best mate never came without strings. That had been a lesson he'd learned early on as a child. What would he be expecting from Dean when it came time to pay?

Thomas drew up all of his strength to knock on the heavy front door. A disagreement with Antonin months before he'd made his trip to the future hadn't been resolved when he was presumed dead. There would be a great deal to discuss when the door was opened. _If_ Antonin didn't curse him first.

He didn't have to wait long for the sleepy wizard to open the door. Or perhaps, he was still drunk from the night before. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Antonin blinked, stepped backwards with wide, confused eyes, and drew his wand. Before he could even _think_ about reaching for his own wand, the other wizard had his wand under Thomas' chin. Not that he could blame him, of course. How often did a person wake up early in the morning to find their best friend whom they believed to have been dead for eighteen years on their front steps? The fact that he didn't curse him from the beginning was a small miracle.

"Good morning, Tony. Hope I didn't disturb your rest."

His voice sounded much more cheerful and confident than he felt on the inside. There had been several moments in the less than twenty-four hours since he arrived that he worried how this meeting would go. He'd never been one to bury his head in the sand. Maybe there was a streak of Gryffindor in him after all.

" _T-Tommy_?"

"Afraid so. Just arrived yesterday afternoon."

" _Arrived_?"

"From the past."

Antonin dropped his wand. It was evident that he wasn't entirely convinced. If there was ever a soul alive who required more proof of a phenomenon or theory before he believed it, Thomas surely hadn't met them. The fact that he didn't step aside to invite his oldest friend inside the house was further proof that he didn't know what to believe.

"Hermione had a time turner, but I suppose you know that already. We were able to travel in time eighteen years yesterday."

"She's back?"

The expression that crossed Antonin's face was difficult to decipher. Even for the man who had known him since they were both hardly out of nappies. _But_ , Thomas had to remind himself, _there were eighteen years you knew nothing at all about him_. So much could have happened to make him change. Though Hermione hadn't ever divulged the truth about Antonin's future, he'd been able to get the details out of his dad the night before. It had been a heartbreaking waste of a life.

"Yes, she's back. Is that good news? Or bad news?"

"Of course I'm pleased to hear that she wasn't killed. I'd always hoped that maybe she'd just made her way out of the country without telling anyone."

"Hermione's not the kind to run. She's not a coward."

"I never said she was."

His defensive tone was exactly what Thomas had been expecting. To say that Antonin's relationship with Hermione had always been complicated was a gross understatement. The two of them should've never even been in the same room together in the first place. There was simply no way that they weren't going to explode. Best case scenario would have them just killing each other. Worst case would have them bring the entire world down with them. Sometimes passion wasn't a good thing at all. If it stayed entirely in the bedroom, there was some hope. But, neither one of them had ever been very good at making certain what happened in the privacy of their own bedrooms didn't spill out into the rest of the world.

"Did you fake your own death like you faked Silas Selwyn's?"

Antonin spat the hateful words out to Thomas' complete surprise. Clearly he hadn't been as careful with the Unbreakable Vow as he thought he had been. Perhaps he'd mis-worded it, left in too many loopholes. No one should've known the truth about Silas' death before he returned. By the look in his cold eyes, his best mate wasn't done being angry.

"I enlisted Silas' help, yes. It seemed like a prudent move. I hadn't decided yet if I was going to leave the country or try to return back with Hermione."

"When your _body_ was found and I thought you were dead, I… I…"

He blew out a heavy breath. Composing himself and gathering his words seemed to be difficult. Thomas waited patiently. His own curiosity about the events after his supposed death was quite potent. It took all he had not to beg for answers.

"I lost my mind for a bit. After Hermione… and then, _you_ , I didn't know what to think."

Thomas bit his tongue before he blurted out his crimes. It sickened him to know what Antonin had done with a handful of other Death Eaters to the Prewett twins. Though he hadn't had much use for his little brother's best friends, they deserved better than the fate they got. He hadn't even been able to muster up an ounce of sympathy that he'd spent so many years in Azkaban amongst the Death Eaters. He deserved that and much, much more.

"Yes, well, I suppose it doesn't matter any longer. I'm back."

"Does your son know that you're alive? That you ran away?"

If he'd been punched in the gut or slapped across the face, Thomas wouldn't have been in any more pain. Not even the horrific pain from his werewolf scratch was half as hurtful as his words, especially because he was unable to dispute them. They were all true. He _did_ abandon his family. That very moment his wife was probably still in bed snuggled up with her husband who'd been there with her for almost all of the years that he'd been gone. He didn't know what kind of hardships they experienced without him there. Would his son ever be able to forgive him?

"Dean is in Ireland for Christmas. He promised my grandmother that he'd be back in time for Hogmanay. We thought it best that we wait to tell him until then. Don't want to ruin his Christmas."

"How _kind_."

Knowing how stubborn Antonin could be when he set his mind to it, Thomas wondered if they'd ever be able to move on from the events of the past. _Likely not_. Now that his faked death was revealed and he didn't have to worry that Antonin would find out about it in the newspaper, he readied himself for the real reason he was there. Something had to be discussed. Something important. And until he had all of the answers he was seeking, Thomas wouldn't move from the front steps.

"Yes, I'm a horrible person for abandoning my family. I'm aware of that. I've lost Gracie. Even if I thought there might even be a hint of a chance that she'd ever want me back, she's settled and happy. So, I've lost my wife permanently. There's a very real chance that my son will never want to speak to me again. Or, I guess I should say he will never want to speak to me _ever_. Still hadn't said much at all when I left."

It was all true. Every single word of it. Even before he left, even as he lay next to a sleeping Gracie and stared at her in the middle of the night, he knew that he was a horrible human being for even _thinking_ about running away. He was a coward, plain and simple. Maybe he would have to spend the rest of his life trying to atone for his past mistakes. He was willing. To have even a _hope_ of a future relationship with his son, he would do just about anything.

Including asking his best mate the hard questions when it would be easier to pretend like he hadn't seen what he saw eighteen years earlier.

"Care to explain to me why you were actually _working_ with Salazar Selwyn and Fenrir _fucking_ Greyback to attack your ex-girlfriend and your best friend in front of Andromeda's shop?"


	13. An Unlikely Alliance - Greyback

_Author's Note: This will be the Final additional scene. I appreciate all of the support you all have given me over the length of time I've been writing these, but there will not be anymore. Honestly, I was extremely hesitant about writing one from Greyback's point of view. It was a disturbing idea for me and because he is such a horrific monster in_ ** _this_** _story, I never wanted to run the risk of romanticizing him. He is a monster. Perhaps in the future I will write a story where he isn't, but I want it to be very clear in The Minister's Secret that he is_ ** _not_** _someone who should be romanticized. Anyway, despite my reservations, this scene just made sense. Thanks again!_

* * *

An Unlikely Alliance

Greyback

Most people would be surprised to discover the amount of activity that took place in the forest during the end of fall and the beginning of winter. Without heightened instincts or senses, they might just assume that most of the wildlife traveled south for winter or were huddled up in some den somewhere warm. Fenrir Greyback preferred wandering through the almost silent woods when it was cold outside. It was peaceful, uncomplicated.

He did what he could to stay out of the line of sight of those who wouldn't appreciate his presence. Months he'd been sleeping inside the abandoned Shrieking Shack. The rumors still persisted that the structure was haunted. It worked to his advantage to have the simpleminded villagers continue their antiquated beliefs. A wide berth was given the crumbling building. He was able to sneak in and out of the boarded up cellar without much concern that he'd be discovered.

The residents of Hogsmeade would likely have been horrified to know how long he'd been living on the outskirts of their village. Injured in the final battle, he'd been able to miraculously limp away from the grounds unnoticed. There had been so much activity swirling around him that his escape wasn't important. He waited in the woods until the traitorous spy's body was removed. Once the Ministry was satisfied that no one else was hidden inside the Shrieking Shack, the werewolf pried a loose board off the cellar and made the shack his semi-permanent home.

It had taken time before his strength returned. The first Full Moon had almost killed him. Not even in his most natural state was he strong enough to break out of the shack. Small blessing really. He would've been an easy target for one of the villagers to pick off. Instead, his cries and growls from within simply furthered the long-held rumors of it being haunted.

He'd watched the Granger girl walk through the woods on her way to and from the castle from inside his hiding place several times. Her intoxicating scent always threatened to drive him mad and send him rushing out into the lane. He desired nothing more than to possess the little girl. He longed to drag her into the cellar, bury himself back inside the tight cunt he'd been dreaming of for years, rip the flesh between her neck and shoulder, and fill her belly with his seed. She _belonged_ to him. She _would_ be his.

If he tried to take her before his body was physically healed, he would've been foolish. They would have been discovered. He would've been killed, likely tortured, and she would have been ripped away from him… _again_. He'd been waiting to mark her for over twenty-five years. A few months were nothing. He could be patient.

When she vanished a second time, he feared that he'd lost his chance forever. Every chance he got, he snuck down into the village to dig through the rubbish bins for old copies of the Daily Prophet. The disappearance of the best friend of the wizarding world's 'savior' Harry Potter was big news. There was a new theory every single day of the week. Greyback suspected Dolohov's involvement. He'd been just as obsessed for almost as long. If that was the case, he had some hope. Dolohov was sloppy, too emotional. He would make mistakes.

The announcement that Hermione Granger _was_ Hermione Dumbledore and that she'd been sent back in time presumably by the fugitive Death Eater excited Greyback. There was an expectation, a _hope_ that she would be able to find her way back to the present. When she'd almost broken his skull with a brick and run away from him so many years earlier, she _might_ have been using her time turner to come back to where he was. He'd seen the necklace she wore, the one that _didn't_ cause him severe pain. Only then did it make sense what she'd had all along.

He paid close attention to all of the new stories about her he could find. If there was even a hint of a possibility that she would reemerge from the past into the current timeline, Greyback was going to be waiting for her. She disappeared right before Christmas. Assuming that she returned the same time that she vanished, he was only going to have to wait a few more weeks. He could be patient. He _had_ to be patient.

Only a short distance from the Shrieking Shack, his supernatural instincts informed the werewolf that he was not alone. Whoever it was had enough skills to _almost_ sneak up on him undetected. Greyback sniffed the air for any hint of his stalker. A scowl formed on his face.

"I wondered when I would be seeing you again."

Antonin Dolohov stepped out from behind a nearby tree. Few people alive were more reviled by the werewolf. They had a long history of issues with each other. Decades of hatred. Each of them had tried to kill the other more than a few times. Greyback resented how Dolohov treated him as if he were nothing but scum. But he was no better. Worse even. At least Greyback knew he was a monster. Dolohov had been denying it his entire life.

"The Minister knows about your hiding place."

Greyback shrugged his shoulders.

"Thought I smelled something foul when I came in this morning. You were with him. Are you mates now?"

Dolohov scowled.

"Hardly. He's convenient for the moment."

The werewolf scoffed. He knew that Dolohov only deigned to seek him out when he needed something. Just like Shacklebolt, he was _convenient_. In his opinion, and he felt certain that there were many others out there who shared it, Dolohov was one of the most two-faced wizards he'd ever known. He treated a person like filth and the second he needed something, he would come sniffing around. Bad habit of using people. Greyback never could understand what _she_ had seen in the wizard. He must have lied to her most of all. Just the thought of it made him angry. He's do a lot to her, but he'd never lie.

With a sarcastic bow, he asked the wizard how he could be of service. Greyback laughed, even though he desired nothing more than to kill him. Maybe one day he would get the chance. He could do it in that moment, but then he wouldn't get to know what he wanted. Curiosity could be a pain.

"You've seen the Daily Prophet. We found a stack of them in your… little _nest_."

"Yes, I have. Very interesting. I didn't realize when I had her within my grasp at Lucius' who she really was. Thought she was your daughter. Smelled so sweet and fresh."

Dolohov's disgust was clear, but Greyback didn't care. Once upon a time he was a mediocre wizard every bit as uptight as him. Being bitten freed him from constraints he hadn't even been aware he was oppressed under. He was free to live by his instincts alone.

"She's expected to return. Since you and Selwyn bollocksed up. You let her get away and Selwyn's incompetence got my best friend killed."

"He denies he had anything to do with that."

"Of course he denies it!"

Years earlier when Salazar Selwyn approached him in Diagon Alley with the plan to get his revenge on the Dumbledore girl, they'd needed a third man. Greyback hadn't been pleased to learn that Dolohov was the one that Selwyn chose, but if he was going to finally get the little girl within his grasp, he would've been willing to work with Albus Dumbledore himself. He remembered being surprised that the wizard actually wanted to punish the girl. He'd always been under the impression that Dolohov loved the girl. Humans were weak. He was glad he was no longer affected.

"Would you like another chance with her?"

Greyback was intrigued. Of course he wanted another chance with the girl. That was the only reason why he hadn't even attempted to flee the country or go further into hiding. He'd wanted the Granger girl when he realized how much she reminded him of the one he lost. Knowing that there was a real possibility that he could have her again excited him. Was Dolohov suggesting that they attempt what they failed so many years earlier? If so, he definitely wanted in, but he worried there was a catch.

"You don't want the girl for yourself?"

Dolohov laughed. It was cold and made the werewolf's fur stand up on end.

"She made her choices years ago. Even if I could change her mind, I don't want her anymore."

It struck Greyback that there were something seriously unhinged about the wizard. And he should know.

"I need your help. I made a promise a long time ago to myself and to her that one day I'd stand over Shacklebolt's grave. Help me and you get to keep the cunt."

"I admit to being surprised by your offer. There was a time you never left her alone."

Dolohov shrugged his shoulders again.

"We grow up. Discover what really matters to us. At least I did."

"Azkaban robbed you of the last of your senses."

"Azkaban _showed_ me what I wanted. I want him dead and I want her to wish she was dead."

He felt his lips quirk into a smile. Couldn't deny that he was intrigued. Maybe they could both get what they desired this time.

"What do you have in mind?"

Greyback's reflexes easily caught the item Dolohov threw in his direction. A key with a piece of parchment tied to it with an address landed in his palm. Confused by the offering, he looked up at the wizard.

"Baby Shacklebolt's watching the Shrieking Shack. It's not safe anymore. I'm going to let the villagers see me there, so there's a reasonable excuse why you won't go back. The Ministry will be swarming the area if they think I'm nearby. That's a key to my father's house. It's empty. Stay there out of sight until I come find you."

Taking orders from the wizard wasn't high on the list of Greyback's preferences, but he couldn't deny the shack left a little to be desired. It was getting to be too cold to linger there much longer. If he came out of this at the end with the little girl, he'd willingly be in the madman's debt. Besides, he could always kill him when they were done.


	14. Confronting the Madness - Caradoc

**Author's Note: I've had so many people ask me what happened to Caradoc that I finally just had to write this! Hope you enjoy. It's a bit darker than I intended. Pay attention to the new warning below.**

 ***** I posted this scene to both the Additional Scenes and the main story because I wanted to announce that when I finish writing my insane story Last Year, I will be doing a final edit of TMS and combining the Additional Scenes with the main story. Some readers have complained about them not being included in the main story and while I did that intentionally to keep from having POV issues, I do understand that it's a valid concern. So, I will be editing the main story and eventually doing away with the Additional Scenes story in order not to confuse future readers. So you may see a day when you receive a number of update notices for TMS and be disappointed to know it's only me moving around the chapters! Sorry. ;) *****

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 **Warning** **: This chapter has a new content warning for suicidal ideation. All other potential warnings from the rest of the story could also apply, but that one is new.**

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Confronting the Madness

Caradoc

He was being foolish. Every cell in his body shouted at him to stop what he was doing. What did he possibly hope to accomplish being so reckless? He was a Hufflepuff, after all. _Not_ a bloody Gryffindor. His entire heart might belong to one of those proud, noble idiots, but that didn't mean he had to act like one himself.

But, he reminded himself, what _else_ did he have to lose? Everything and everyone that meant anything to him was gone. Or as good as. War touched each one of their lives. No one was immune. There were rumors that hope was coming soon. Prophecies or toothless old hags reading signs of the end in their tea leaves. It didn't matter to Caradoc. To him, it felt like all that stretched out ahead of him was a future filled with loneliness and abject misery. The light was gone from his life, snuffed out way too early.

It was never his intention to fall in love with Gideon Prewett. No, even years after their first heated kiss in the darkness outside of The Hog's Head he still felt like he'd taken advantage of the young, trusting wizard. Though his soul was much older than the number of years he'd been alive on the Earth, Caradoc always believed he was too old for Gideon. Too old and too bitter about where his life ended up. What man in his right mind would allow himself to fall in love with a man who spent every single day working closely with the best friend he'd been in love with since school?

One passionate, unexpected kiss in the shop's storeroom right after Rodolphus married that wretched bitch could've easily been the end of their friendship. At the time, it happened so quickly that Caradoc wasn't even sure who initiated it. How many times had he fantasized about pushing his best friend up against the shelves and _proving_ to him how much he loved him? Too many to count. When it happened, instead of being overjoyed and enthusiastic that _maybe_ he could have some part of Rodolphus' heart and body, all he could think of was how disappointed Gideon would be in him when he confessed. Because he loved Gideon too much to keep such a tremendous secret to himself. He deserved to know, deserved to have the chance to slap Caradoc in the face and kick him out of the flat they shared.

Rodolphus was the one to break the kiss before it escalated any further. The taste of fire whiskey was strong on his tongue. Caradoc knew his best friend was struggling with an enemy he couldn't defeat.

"I'm so sorry, Caradoc. That was… I shouldn't have done that."

Thick tears rolled out of Rodolphus' light green eyes. The urge to pull him into his arms was so overwhelming that Caradoc knew they would have to walk away from each other soon or risk being drawn into the same situation again.

"I shouldn't have kissed you, Caradoc. I shouldn't have taken advantage."

Caradoc tried to lighten the tense mood with his cheekiest of grins.

"Oh, so _you_ were the one who started that? I thought I'd finally lost all of my self-control around you and done what I've dreamt of doing a thousand times."

Rodolphus tried to smile, but failed. More tears rolled down his handsome face. He looked so lost and pathetic that Caradoc pushed his concerns of a repeat aside to wrap his arms around his clearly hurting and confused friend. Reluctant at first to accept the comfort and support, Rodolphus finally relaxed into the embrace. Neither of them spoke. Words weren't necessary. It didn't take a genius to figure out his best friend was in an enormous amount of pain that even the copious amounts of fire whiskey he consumed couldn't cure. The Lestranges all relied too heavily on alcohol, in Caradoc's humblest of opinions. More than a few times he'd been concerned about his drinking habits and Hermione's. It was unsafe, always led them to making poor decisions.

Like kissing his best friend. Caradoc was thankful he never tried that before he had Gideon in his life and knew what love actually was. If Rodolphus tried it years earlier, he might never have recovered from the pain that was sure to follow when he walked away with another piece of Caradoc's broken heart. Now with Gideon in his life and in his heart, he could see the act for what it actually was - a desperately sad man drowning in his own sorrows looking for anything to hold on to. It hurt Caradoc's heart to see his friend so downtrodden and unsure of himself. And, it made him long to go home to tell Gideon how much he loved him.

"I thought maybe… I _hoped_ that I could…"

Caradoc pushed gently back from the stammering man to look him in the eyes. When Rodolphus tried to keep his eyes focused on the floor, Caradoc placed two fingers under his chin and forced him. He knew what his friend was trying to say. Years earlier, after a night of heavy drinking for _both_ of them, Rodolphus told him he wished he could love him back, that he didn't deserve to be less than someone's first and _only_ choice. It wasn't something he could offer even if he wished he could. The confession made being alone with his best friend awkward and depressing for weeks until Caradoc put on his brightest grin and pretended he wasn't hurt until he found he no longer was.

"You're always going to be my best mate, Roddy. _Always_. No witch or wizard could ever change that."

Except, as Caradoc was saddened to discover years later, a wizard _had_ come come between them. A Dark wizard with a name that they were all too cowardly to speak. With the tragic loss of his cousin, Rodolphus fell down into a dark abyss that he didn't know how to help him crawl out of. They rarely spoke. Not even in the shop. _If_ he bothered to show up to check on his business, he didn't stay long and was usually too drunk to know what was happening. Hermione's loss profoundly affected them all. The times he'd been around Kingsley after it happened… the pain was too much. He usually excused himself to leave the room.

Rodolphus was almost a stranger. Grief and whatever darkness he was involved in with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named changed him into a man that Caradoc didn't recognize and didn't want to be around. His consumption of alcohol only got worse. There were times when he would speak just the most ridiculous rubbish. About how he needed to remember a name, no matter what. He made the mistake of asking what the name was once when he walked up on Rodolphus muttering to himself in his office. _Neville_. It didn't mean anything to Caradoc until Frank and Alice had their baby. Then when they had to go into hiding at the same time as the Potters, he worried even more. What could his best friend possibly want with a helpless baby? _None_ of the possibilities were ones he wished to consider.

When the very worst day of Caradoc's entire life happened, he longed for the man Rodolphus used to be. Just to have his solid support at his back while he tried to make sense of the fact that he would never see Gideon's face again would've made all of the difference. Never had he felt so alone. Several of the other members of the Order tried to offer their support, their comfort, but none of it helped. The ones that he wished to have with him facing the possibility of the rest of his miserable life without the one person who brought him joy and purpose weren't there anymore. Possibly not even _alive_ any longer.

 _Fucking Death Eaters._ He would make it his mission, his _purpose_ to eradicate every single one he found until they were all dead. _None_ of them deserved to walk on the Earth while his Gideon rested beneath it. Not even Rodolphus. He was just another faceless, soulless monster of terror. Caradoc had no doubt that he would find the consequences of his actions catching up to him one day. Maybe his former best mate would be the one to swing the sword, so to speak. He didn't doubt that if given the opportunity, he wouldn't falter. Not even for Roddy.

Everyone knew who was responsible for the murder of Gideon and his twin brother Fabian. It was an open secret. Some said that Dolohov had finally gone mad when the broken body of his best friend Thomas Shacklebolt was found, but Caradoc didn't believe that was true. Antonin Dolohov had gone mad long before that horrific tragedy. When? He wasn't sure. Only that he remembered catching Dolohov's eye years earlier when he was still hanging around Hermione and seeing nothing but cold rage. A chill ravaged his body at the sight. There was something _off_ about the Russian wizard.

It hadn't been a surprise at all to learn that Dolohov was the ringleader of the Death Eater mob that savagely murdered the Prewett twins. Maybe part of him had been expecting that to happen. One didn't cross paths with a madman without fearing that they would one day come after their loved ones. Caradoc didn't care about his own safety. He would've gladly laid his life down to spare Gideon's. There wouldn't have even been a second of hesitation. The world was nothing but shite now that he was gone. He didn't want to live in it anymore.

Dolohov was forced to go underground when the news of his treachery reached the ears of the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic. The home he'd been working on remodeling and updating for years was well-known to both sides, but out of fear of the dangerous wards the former curse-breaker was capable of surrounding his property with, no one was foolish enough to go rushing in. Not until they had their own experts tear his work down. With the war heating up and growing even more deadly with each passing moment, there wasn't enough to dismantle them. Instead, the Ministry simply covered it all with their own spells, a sort of magical burglar alarm that would alert them to any possible activity in the area. So far, to Caradoc's disappointment as well as everyone else's, there hadn't been any sign of him anywhere near his home.

An anonymous tip came into the Headquarters about an old attic flat in a dingy building above a locksmith in Knockturn Alley. There had been some suspicious activity. Though that was normal in that part of the city, the fact that a wizard dressed in dark robes was seen coming and going at the oddest hours of the night piqued his curiosity. Years earlier Dolohov abandoned his old flat to move into a much nicer building, but Caradoc would never forget the interesting and sometimes hilarious stories Hermione would tell about the people who lived in the building where her boyfriend lived. Sirius Black offered to investigate with him. Caradoc politely declined his assistance. If Dolohov was indeed hiding inside his old flat, he planned on showing no mercy. Black had the rest of his life to look forward to and he didn't want to deprive the younger wizard of his future.

Few people ventured out of doors when the moon was high in the sky. Even fewer entered Knockturn Alley during those hours. Violence and degradation flooded the streets of Wizarding Britain. Most chose to avoid the possibility of being swept into it by staying inside. If Gideon was still alive, Caradoc would've been tempted to lock the two of them inside their own home and never stepped outside until they either died of starvation or the damned war was over.

But Gideon was dead. He would never again hear the musical laugh that always made him smile nor the throaty moan that always made him hard. Their future, the one they used to dream about and plan out while they laid awake in their bed catching their breaths, was _never_ going to happen. He was going to die alone. At least Gideon had his brother when he died. Caradoc had _no one_.

It must have been fate that no one crossed his path as he walked from the entrance of Knockturn Alley to Trackleshanks Locksmith. Or no one else was as foolish as he'd become in his grief. His safety was no longer a concern. The worst thing that could ever happen to him was that he'd be in an immense amount of pain for only a short time and then he'd get to see Gideon again. And maybe if he was lucky, his death would be swift.

The door that led to the flats above the building was difficult to open. Frustrated that something as insignificant as a _door_ could keep him from his goal, Caradoc blasted a hole right in the middle. If the sound woke up the inhabitants of the building, he didn't much care. He wanted to look the man who killed his beloved in the eyes.

No one accosted him on the way up the stairs. Though it was always possible that he hadn't made that much noise, he thought it was more likely that the residents were more inclined to stay huddled inside their homes than to investigate unexplained sounds outside. He could've sworn, however, that as he climbed the stairs and passed by doors to flats, he could feel them watching him through the peepholes in their doors.

At the very top of the staircase he found two closed doors. One he remembered as belonging to the 'slag who lived at the end of the corridor'. Or at least it did once upon a time when Hermione described walking in on her boyfriend fucking his neighbor on the dining table. Maybe the slag moved on. Caradoc didn't care.

He stopped in front of the door that he knew used to belong to Dolohov. Movement behind the door could be seen in the shadows that peeked out under the doorframe. It was always possible that the suspicious wizard wearing dark robes was entirely innocent. Maybe he was simply shy and liked dark clothing and had nothing in common with the Death Eater that once inhabited the flat. If that was the case, Caradoc would turn around and walk away. But he had to be certain before he could rest.

The door opened. Standing in nothing but his pants was the very wizard Caradoc hoped he would find. Dolohov didn't sneer or glare when he realized who his visitor was. No, he _smiled_. Somehow that made the whole experience all the more unnerving. Caradoc could feel his resolve start to slip. The Gryffindoric stupidity he borrowed was beginning to dissipate.

"A little late for a social call, wouldn't you say, Dearborn?"

"You know very well why I'm here, Dolohov and it's _not_ a social call."

Dolohov leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. His wand wasn't in his hands, but Caradoc knew that that wouldn't matter. He was a talented enough dueler that he could reach for his wand in his waistband and get a curse off before most could utter a single spell.

"Oh, I know what you _think_ you're here to do, but you and I both know that that's not going to go well for you."

How little the cretin knew about him! Caradoc was good and his years working with the Order of the Phoenix made him much better, but he knew what he was and what he wasn't. He was _not_ a fighter. At least not a very good one. His talents were more in reconnaissance and healing spells when the fighters returned. Hermione taught him several after he and Rodolphus did such a dismal job trying to heal his arm after the scared owl attacked him the first time. He also could be very persuasive when he wished to be.

"I'm not here to kill you, Dolohov. Or even _try_. Don't get me wrong. I should. You've caused enough damage and heartache in this world. Too many of us are walking around with our hearts gone from our bodies because you stole the ones we loved."

Dolohov scoffed, unfolding his arms. Caradoc prepared himself for the green light he had nightmares about. When the madman didn't reach for his wand, he calmed only slightly.

"Your wizard put up an admirable fight. It was _almost_ not enjoyable to end his life."

He wouldn't allow the wizard to bait him. Caradoc held up his hands, showing they were empty too. Dolohov could kill him before he even grabbed his wand. They were on an uneven playing field. Just like the twins. Five Death Eaters against two wizards was never a fair fight. He was proud that Gideon fought hard.

"Do you think _she_ would be proud of the wizard you've become, Dolohov?"

His chilling laughter made the hair on Caradoc's neck rise up. He detested the sound.

"I don't care what a bitch like Dumbledore thinks about me. Even if she was alive, which I doubt, I wouldn't care."

"I wasn't talking about Hermione."

Dolohov narrowed his dark brown eyes, confusion evident behind them, but pride kept him from asking him to clarify.

"I'm talking about _Mira_. Would your mum be proud of the wizard you've become?"

Caradoc's head slammed against the wall. His assailant moved so quickly to grab his throat that he was practically a blur. He knew it would be dangerous to mention the woman he loved more than any other, but it was a weapon just as sure as a wand. Dolohov pressed the tip of his wand underneath his throat. The rage in his eyes was something that would've terrified the older wizard in another lifetime. In that one, however, the one that was forced upon him against his will when his beloved was cruelly murdered, he had no fears at all.

"She was a kind woman with a generous heart, wasn't she?"

"Don't you _dare_ speak about my mother."

"She would be ashamed of you. Ashamed of the monster you've become."

The low growl in the madman's throat morphed into a scream of rage. Caradoc refused to show any emotion, refused to stop. Let Dolohov kill him. It's what he wanted after all. There was nothing left in the cruel, ugly world for him. He would've done it himself if he thought he could look Gideon in the eyes in the afterlife. No, he had to try to make it meaningful, try to make _something_ good come out of it.

"Your mum would want to you to stop killing innocent people. She'd want you to walk away from You Know Who and …"

"Stop talking about my mother!"

"… make something good of yourself. Your mum would want you to stop hurting people."

"Stop it, Dearborn! Stop it!"

An accidental magical outburst sent sparks out of the end of Dolohov's wand, burning both Caradoc's chin and his hand. Cursing at the pain, the wizard removed his wand to point it down at the floor. The short break in the taunts about his mother while Caradoc hissed and tried not to scream out seemed to bring Dolohov back to his senses. Or at least as close to them as it was possible to be. The man was cracked, utterly and completely. Probably had been for years. The strain of being a murderous Death Eater turned him into an insane monster. He smiled again, the rage he felt only moments earlier apparently gone.

"I get what you're trying to do, Dearborn. What a clever little Hufflepuff you are! You want me to turn myself in to that crackpot Moody. Apologize for being a naughty little boy and let them throw me in Azkaban to rot."

"Your master is going to lose this war."

" _No_ , he's not. He can't lose. He can't even die. But _you_ can."

The wand was back under his chin and the madness back in the other's eyes. Caradoc refused to be cowed. He would stand up straight up until the very moment of his death. If Gideon could be brave, so could he. _Only a little while longer, my love. I'm coming for you._ He smiled, never letting Dolohov know he was getting to him.

"I'm not afraid to die, Dolohov. I'm not afraid of you."

"Then you are a fool."

He dropped the wand again. Spinning on his heel, the wizard started towards his flat. Just before he closed the door on his late night visitor, Dolohov turned around again to meet his eyes. Caradoc didn't understand what was happening. He didn't expect the cretin to take his pleas to turn himself in to heart. Where was the man's fiery temper that he'd heard so much about?

"I spared your life once before. Did you know that?"

Caradoc could only shake his head. Words failed him. What was happening?

"I did it for Hermione… because she loved you so much. I didn't want to hurt her. I used to love her."

He didn't understand what was happening. Was Dolohov going to let him go? There was a reason he came to the flat of a known and dangerous Death Eater in the middle of the night! Taunting him about his mother? That had been a ploy to get him to lose control. _Why_ hadn't he done anything? What else was Caradoc going to have to do or say to get the unhinged wizard to grant him the sweet release he was desperate for?

"I couldn't be the wizard she wanted me to be. She thought there was enough good in me, but she was wrong." He lowered his voice and softened his tone. Some of the menacing madness behind his eyes dimmed. "But even an animal knows something about mercy."

Dolohov raised his wand again, pointing it straight in the direction of Caradoc's chest. He could feel his heart rate speed up. Was this the moment he'd been dreaming of since he first learned that Gideon would never be coming home? Unshed tears clouded his eyes. He was scared. Not of dying, but of _living_. There was no one left for him. No one to love or care for. All of his friends were dead or missing or lost to him forever. Even his grandmother died the year before in her care home. The war could end the next day and it wouldn't matter. He couldn't bear another night alone in his empty bed. It hadn't even been a month since Gideon was murdered and his pillowcase still smelled of him. How could he keep going when even that tiny piece of him faded away?

"Say the word, Caradoc… say the word and you can join him."

The tears he was so desperate to keep under control rolled down his cheeks. Could it be that simple? Did he have enough strength to ask for the only desire he had left?

"Please, Antonin. _Please_."

All of his dreams about this moment were filled with a green light. So many people he knew had been killed with that damned curse that he just expected it to be what took his life. When the purple flames penetrated the darkness of the corridor, Caradoc was surprised. He'd heard about the infamous curse, but never had a chance to witness it himself.

Closing his eyes, he waited for his end. He wondered if the flames would be painful, but decided it didn't matter. The pain would only last a moment. Only a moment and then he'd be with his love again. All would be well.


End file.
